So, I’m 40 now. It doesn’t look like I thought it would as a kid.

Some things are better than I’d dreamed. Some things are, in fact, worse. I thought I’d be further along in my life and my career, and I’m still dealing with that. But I’m prouder of unexpected things, and I’m less emotionally attached to some things I’d really thought would be important to me. And I imagine that, at 50, and at 60, and beyond, some of those things will become even more important, and some of those things will seem even sillier still.

But I’m 40 today, and coincidentally my business is turning 17 years old as well. Let me tell you some things I’ve learned, and some things I’m still learning.

• I really should have listened to grown-ups when they told me to wear sunscreen, lift with my legs and not my back, and do more yoga.  

• I am so glad I have people in my life who make me be normal from time to time. I really would chain myself to the barn and teach and ride all the time if my friends and husband didn’t occasionally browbeat me to do wild things like take a vacation or go out to dinner. Thank you. I don’t know why you tolerate me, but I appreciate it. 

• Sometimes I’ve encouraged a student buying a horse to stretch into something that’s a smidge beyond what they’re comfortable with, to see in that horse what I see, even if they’re unsure. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t. But 100% of the time when I’ve underhorsed them, I’ve not regretted it, nor have they. 

• In that vein, when clients don’t have the budget for the schoolmaster, then that’s the ball game. But when they’ve waffled between getting the older professor who is proven concept or the youngling that we’ll train together, zero percent who went for the older schoolmaster have regretted it. 

• You need a coach—not just a smattering of clinics or the occasional lesson—if you want to be good. And in a dream world, that coach gives a damn about you. It’s also great if that coach has done what you want to do, and even better if they’ve taught someone else to do what you want to do. Having ridden to a level doesn’t automatically mean that person can train to the level, and it certainly doesn’t mean that they can help you learn to train to the level. Some of the most accomplished riders are terrible trainers, and that is OK. It just means they shouldn’t be your trainer. It’s also OK to enjoy clinics and getting outside perspective from competent people, but consistent inconsistency isn’t a training program.

• In a similar vein, virtual lessons and audio apps like Ride iQ (for whom I work and which is FANTASTIC) are amazing complements to an in-person training program. They are not a replacement for one.

• Forget the internet commenters. You want to know how many big-time international riders I’ve seen leave nasty Facebook comments? Zero. How many people that I respect who are still out there doing the thing well, training humans and horses, whether it’s for show or not, that leave nasty Facebook comments? Zero. Anyone who has the time, and who lacks the empathy, to be crappy on social media to anyone out there trying hard can have exactly the day they deserve. 

• With that said, we can all be better horsemen. Play a game called “Can I ask my horse for this with even less aid?” It is an amazing game that will make you a better rider and will leave you breathlessly in awe of how amazing and gracious and clever horses are. 

• If you’ve been doing this a while, and something feels wrong, it probably is. 

• Buy a saddle that fits your horse. You will learn to love something that your horse loves because he will go like a million bucks. There is no guarantee that he will learn to love something that you love.

• I have never regretted saying “forget it” and going for a trail ride. None of my horses are ever, EVER worse off. I have also 100% never regretted calling my vet, or taking balance films to guide my farrier.

• Respect your vet. Respect your farrier. Get them something nice for Christmas, and don’t text them at crazy hours. (Maybe also don’t text your trainer at crazy hours, but I won’t get my hopes up.)

• The Grand Unified Theory of Horse Training—whatever your horse wants to do, work in the opposite way for a while; if he wants to be long and flat think about short and up, if he wants to be slow go fast, etc.—is basically always the right answer. So is the good ol’ German riding system of leg to seat to hand. Work well for short periods of time, and then celebrate with a break. Park your emotions at the door; they rarely help.

• Don’t bedazzle anything you’re not comfortable drawing attention to.

• It is OK to delegate body clipping. Don’t pull manes too short; too long is fixable, but too short isn’t. Take your time and think before you trim a bridle path, because you’re probably putting it in the wrong place. (Note: I haven’t actually learned this lesson, I’m just putting on airs about it, but maybe by writing it down means I won’t bungle a bridle path next time? Maybe?)

• Yeah, I still want to go to the Olympics and win big, hairy things. And I’m going to keep leaning on that as long as I can. But, oh man, how freaking cool is it when a student understands something for the first time?! How freaking cool is it when a baby horse understands something for the first time?! And while winning the third level regional championships or the North American Youth Championships is, ultimately, not all that important, you are absolutely allowed to bask in that glow for a while before putting the champagne away, sweeping up the confetti, and then getting back to work. You’re also allowed to shed a few tears and think some capital-E Evil Thoughts towards the judge/the rich lady in your class who beat you/the guy in the warm-up who cut you off and wrecked your ride before then taking a breath and getting back to work. Success is temporary, and rare; so is real disaster. Perspective is critical.

• There is no amount of talent, time, money or skill that can overcome crappy luck. And everyone has crappy luck. The Instagram version of peoples’ lives doesn’t necessarily show those dark days, but just know that, no matter how bright and shiny someone’s life looks from the outside, those days are in there.

• I have never regretted apologizing to those who tolerated me as a teenager for doing so, even when they promise me that I can stop doing so. Sorry, guys. I was a prat. Thank you for suffering me.

• Err on the side of keeping your bad thoughts to yourself. Maybe someone deserves a verbal come-uppance, but maybe they don’t, and you won’t regret not saying it.

• Err on the side of complimenting strangers. Maybe they’ll think you’re a weirdo, but maybe you’ll make their damn day.

• You can always up the ante. You can’t take it back.

• It’s OK to be wrong. It’s OK to admit you’re wrong. Failure the greatest teacher is, says Yoda, and he’s right.

• In 17 years I’ve personally made eight horses to the Grand Prix level and nine more to the Prix St. Georges; factor in those I’ve made alongside my students and we get to 10 and 18, respectively. I’ve helped students earn 25 USDF bronze medals, 14 silver, and three gold. Six of my former assistant trainers are now head trainers out there in their own right; former working students have gone on to be vets, grooms for Olympians, and many, many more cool things. And I am wicked proud of all of these things, and yet I also remember a moment when I asked the late Georg Theodorescu a question about piaffe and he thought for a second and then said, “Hmm, I don’t know.” He was 80 at the time. We’re never done learning.

• There are a few horses I’d be happy not to have again, for sure. But there’s also a few I desperately hope come back to me in spirit again so I can do a better job with them than I did the first time. And while I do feel a twinge of regret about a few opportunities I didn’t maximize, I’m well aware that I couldn’t be the trainer I am now if I hadn’t bungled some things along the way.

I still struggle with the difference between complacency and contentment. I still struggle with knowing when to make things happen, when to wait for things to happen, and when to allow myself grace if I’m left wondering what the hell happened. 

I have not yet mastered the art of being zen and hungry at the same time. Sometimes I can’t tell the difference between confidence and bragging, and confuse one for the other, in both directions. 

While I recognize the difference between goals and dreams, I have not yet accepted that maybe, just maybe, if I just work hard enough, my dreams can happen, even though hard work isn’t actually the only factor. I love failure and learning opportunities and “character building” more than I ever have, but sometimes they’re still a bitch. And I know that I have never been a kinder, more thoughtful, more skillful and more empathetic horse trainer in my life than I am right now, and there’s always, always room to grow.

So here’s to the next 10 years. Hopefully I got religion on sunscreen early enough that they’re possible.

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Lauren Sprieser is a USDF gold, silver and bronze medalist with distinction making horses and riders to FEI from her farm in Marshall, Virginia. She’s currently developing The Elvis Syndicate’s C. Cadeau, Clearwater Farm Partners’ Tjornelys Solution, as well as her own string of young horses, with hopes of one day representing the United States in team competition. Follow her on Facebook and Instagram, and read her book on horse syndication, “Strength In Numbers.”