. . . of being an astronaut, a great teacher, an actress, a mom; of owning a business, of being a role model, of horses …
As a little girl, I used to play with my stick pony (remember those?) and endlessly draw horses on my school notebook. I saved the milk money
that was supposed to be for lunch; instead saving it to spend as I spent hours and hours pouring over the latest Breyer’s horse model catalog, lovingly deciding which horse model I was going to buy 
to join the herd in my bedroom.
And I dreamed of the day when I would have a horse of my own.
As that spectacled gangly youngster who would beg her parents for a pony, stubbornly insisting he would be quite content living in our garage and on our postage-stamp sized backyard in the middle of the big city, I would play horses, read about horses … even pretend to BE a horse!
And I dreamed of the day when I would have a horse of my own.
Life happened, businesses and a family got started, and I forgot all about my beloved equine. Then, in a blink of an eye, I was middle-aged, and 
our family moved to a town where thousands upon thousands of horses lived. My heart skipped a beat as I looked out onto rolling hills and gorgeous grandaddy oak trees gently waving in the warm spring breezes … and the horses. Oh my gosh! A jolt in the present of a passion from the past: I ADORE horses! And the strong desires all came rushing back to me.
And I dreamed of the day when I would have a horse of my own.
And that dream finally came true four years ago. My small herd lives in my yard, and they feed my soul and my spirit daily. If things get overwhelming for me, all I need to do is go outside and groom a horse, and the world is put right again. The Almighty was having a great day when He created horses, as they are Nature in its finest form.
I recently saw this beautiful narrative, and although it is about the special joy and inner peace that horses bring to a horse lover, perhaps it can evoke the same fire and passion and depth of spirit about any dream that you have.
As I understand it, this narrative was written by an anonymous 87-year old grandmother. Please enjoy.
“I Ride”
I ride. That seems like such a simple statement. However as many women who ride know it is really a complicated matter. It has to do with power and empowerment. Being able to do things you might have once considered out of reach or ability. I have considered this as I shovel manure, fill water barrels in the cold rain, wait for the vet/farrier/electrician/hay delivery, change a tire on a horse trailer by the side of the freeway, or cool a gelding out before getting down to the business of drinking a cold beer after a long ride.
The time, the money, the effort it takes to ride calls for dedication. At least I call it dedication. Both my ex-husbands call it ‘the sickness’. It’s a sickness I’ve had since I was a small girl bouncing my model horses and dreaming of the day I would ride a real horse. Most of the women I ride with understand the meaning of ‘the sickness’. It’s not a sport. It’s not a hobby. It’s what we do and, in some ways, who we are as women and human beings.
I ride. I hook up my trailer and load my gelding. I haul to some trailhead somewhere, unload, saddle, whistle up my dog and I ride. I breathe in the air, watch the sunlight filter through the trees and savor the movement of my horse. My shoulders relax. A smile rides my sunscreen smeared face. I pull my ball cap down and let the real world fade into the tracks my horse leaves in the dust.
Time slows. Flying insects buzz loudly, looking like fairies. My gelding flicks his ears and moves down the trail. I can smell his sweat and it is perfume to my senses. Time slows. The rhythm of the walk and the movement of the leaves become my focus. My saddle creaks and the leather rein in my hand softens with the warmth.
I consider the simple statement; I ride. I think of all I do because I ride. Climb granite slabs, wade into a freezing lake, race a friend through the Manzanita all the while laughing and feeling my heart in my chest. Other days just the act of mounting and dismounting can be a real accomplishment. Still I ride, no matter how tired or how much my seat bones or any of the numerous horse related injuries hurt. I ride. And I feel better for doing so.
The beauty I’ve seen because I ride amazes me. I’ve ridden out to find lakes that remain for the most part, unseen. Caves, dark and cold beside rivers full and rolling are the scenes I see in my dreams. The Granite Stairway at Echo Summit, bald eagles on the wing and bobcats on the prowl add to the empowerment and joy in my heart.
I think of the people, mostly women, I’ve met. I consider how competent they all are. Not a weenie amongst the bunch… We haul 40-foot rigs, we back into tight spaces without clipping a tree. We set up camp. Tend the horses. We cook and keep safe. We understand and love our companions, the horse. We respect each other and those we encounter on the trail. We know that if you are out there riding, you also shovel, fill, wait and doctor. Your hands are a little rough and you travel with out makeup or hair gel. You do without to afford the ‘sickness’ and probably, when you were a small girl, you bounced a model horse while you dreamed of riding a real one.
What dreams did you have when you were young? Have you been able to realize your dreams? Whether you did or didn’t, how do you feel about that? Can you realize your dream now, or take that first step towards it?