PrintAny time I've ever scribed for a dressage judge, the dressage test requires marks for “transitions to” various gaits. The judge is called on to award scores for the smoothness, energy and accuracy of the transition, whether from trot to canter, canter to trot, changes between collected and extended gaits or what-have-you.
Transitions are intended to be invisible, as seamless and effortless as possible, making it look like the horse is flowing into one gait from another without a jerk, rush, stumble or other noticeable interruption. If only life transitions could be so seamless and effortless.
When we start to learn to perfect our transitions, our teachers explain the principle of the half-halt. The half-halt is designed to get the horse’s attention and warn the horse that something new is coming. Life also dishes out half-halts. Life has a way of warning us that we’re not in Kansas anymore. Some half-halts are more obvious than others.
The first life transition I remember clearly is returning to the States from abroad and going to public school for the first time. My parents were both diplomats, and we had gone to convent schools in our various stints in other countries.
The protocol in convent schools is simple and is hammered into you from the first day—the nuns are treated with respect. So here I was, entering a public high school in a major city in the middle of the year, fresh from the convent. It was the first time in my life that I’d gone to school not wearing a uniform, which was enough of a change. Then, as the teacher (who was, by the way, not wearing a nun’s habit!) entered the room, I did what I’d been taught to do—I stood up. That lasted all of about 10 seconds, as I looked around and realized that not one single person in the room was standing except me. Half-halt and proceed working humiliation.
Once I got settled into school, I found a barn near my home. My father rode in the cavalry, and there were always horses around wherever we went. Horses were a link from the past to the future. Riding was a constant in my life and kept me anchored to reality (or at least my version of reality). I landed at a sales barn, and the owner let me ride a lot of her sale ponies. Since I was not the most polished rider of the group of us kids, I tended to get assigned the rough stock, the half-broke ponies and the ones that needed attitude adjustments. Track sideways, medium buck.
Riding those ponies helped me develop a seat like glue, decent hands (a lot of those ponies went better the less you fussed with their faces), horse and stable management skills (we kids did all our own show prep, braiding, bathing, tack cleaning, as well as general stable chores in exchange for extra riding) and confidence in my ability to get almost any pony over any jump given enough time.
Extended Intimidation
Which did very little to prepare me for the transition to college. It was a very, very fancy college, academically rigorous and full of girls from astronomically wealthy families. Some of the girls in our riding program had ridden in the huge fall indoor shows, had trained with some of the biggest names in the country, and, at least in one case, owned a horse that was scouted for the USET. Was I ever out of my league. Change rein at extended intimidation.
