I’ve been pondering two conversations about horses lately. They aren’t very cheerful and I always know, no matter what I write about, I’ll end up poking someone in the eye when I don’t mean to. But people are touchy about horses, I notice.

The first conversation was several years ago, but I think of it so often. She and I were talking about horses and the future. I was traveling so much then, often gone from my home barn for more than half the year. I wanted a riding horse but my barn was full of retired horses and those aren’t the cheap ones. All of these adult reasonable thoughts fought against my love of riding.

My friend had just lost her beloved gelding. And now what? People had offered to loan her a horse. She was a serious rider, and I knew her loss was two-fold. Not just her brilliant boy, but also being able to ride in the way we both liked. For some of us, riding is like a separate entity.

We talked most of the day, acknowledging that our best riding years were likely behind us. Bittersweet honesty. In the end, my friend and I agreed on one thing. We didn’t want to know when our last ride would happen, especially if it already had. My friend died four months after her horse and I am still thinking about it years later.

Yes, there is life without riding. Not everybody spent decades studying it like we did. Some people think riding is cruel, and some never wanted to ride. Lots of us have barns filled with rescues and elders like I do, and we will feed and care for them no matter what, and enjoy it. I’ve written about all that, along with retirement plans and the importance of wills with funds left for their care. Not the topic today.

I even know that all of us plan to ride until we’re a hundred. Of course, that’s our plan. Until the day it can’t be the plan. Then we have to find another plan.

The second conversation was recent and at first, I didn’t understand what she was saying. She has spent a lifetime with horses, and is very knowledgeable. And she also rides bikes. She said she used to ride all over, arms folded on her chest and no hands. Yeah, me, too, I thought. Then she said she can’t do it anymore. Her balance isn’t there. I haven’t been on a bike in 25 years, and that number alone scared me. But in that instant, I knew I couldn’t do it either. She said horses must feel that, right?

It seemed obvious. I spent decades learning to ride using energy instead of force. Balance is a crucial concern in riding, but how does age change that? Did I even want to think about it?

I am not saying stop riding. I hope you ride forever. But be aware of changes. Be more concerned about your position in the saddle and aware your horse is balancing you as well as themselves. Then listen to what your horse says above what you want. Go for finesse instead of thrills. And if your horse is over 18, give them a break as well. Could we all act our age, not what we wished our age was? Even if it hurts?

What if this age thing isn’t wrong? What about the other kind of balance? These changes in our bodies are real and it seems to be all we can talk about. But didn’t you swear you wouldn’t be that old person complaining about their health? I could make a list of all of my failings of age, but then you’d respond list of your ailments, as if it was a competition. Some would be the same and we would commiserate. Saute in our mutual disappointment while we watch our toenails get thicker. Other challenges would be different, so we could be secretly relieved or pretend to be too humble to be envious.

It would be the easiest thing to just keep wallowing in the list of the things we can’t do, which feels a bit like circling the drain, maybe for another twenty years. Humans are such fatalists. We worry when society says our best years are behind us. But are we listening to the same people who spent the first half of our lives warning us we would amount to nothing? So easy to fall into that trap while rubbing icy-hot into that sore knee.

When I was 60, my two young Iberian sport horses were forced to retire, I had money problems, and my personal life was, well, stall rest would be the flattering term. My plans turned to confetti and sour milk. Not bragging, but I thought my problems were worse than yours. Self-obsessed is the word you’re looking for.

My age was catching up to me, and horse training is a young person’s game, but during a break in feeling sorry for myself, I remembered I used to think I had a book in me. It wasn’t ambition. I wrote to distract myself from my aforementioned tragic sorrow. Then I ended up traveling the world, meeting wonderful horses and people. I wouldn’t have dared dream it, and it isn’t that I was somehow magical. I floundered on. My life didn’t turn out as I hoped. It’s been even better.

Would it be the worst thing to think what we might do if, God forbid, our horse plans fell through, as they all eventually do? Instead of listing the losses, can we look for opportunities? I gagged a little writing those words, but really, what is the plan?

Let’s look at my non-horse-related strengths:

I still have my teeth. Midwest farm girl teeth that were like Swiss cheese in 4th grade. No floride in well water. But I refinanced my mouth. I’m proud of these crowns. Big smile. I got tired of jeans cutting into my waist and now I wear leggings without a tiny hint of embarrassment, although I know exactly how I look in them. I “pair them” with hooded sweatshirts, just like the ones I wore in high school. Not trendy hoodies, those cheap cotton sweatshirts. Love that pouch.I hold the armrest on the door and make sure my feet are solid, but I can still do that death-defying diagonal broad jump into the cab of my truck.

Make a list of your strengths and share them with us, because we haven’t lost our sense of humor. Because fear gets squinty-eyed when we make fun of it.

Whether you ride into the sunset or follow a new dream that you’ve hidden for safekeeping, don’t sell yourself short. Rise to the new occasion. Sure, it takes more courage with each year because of the constant reminder that we are not who we used to be.

Truth is, we’re weirder, wrinklier, and prone to chronic lameness. But we also have life experience; survivors with dreams and common sense. We know more, care less about public opinion, and have spent our lives raising the next generation of kids and dogs, still working longer hours for less money. And all the while doing home repairs with duct tape, nail polish remover, and a good Phillips-head. Why would we underestimate ourselves now?

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