Showing posts with label problem solving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label problem solving. Show all posts

Monday, May 28, 2012

It's Just Routine, Ma'am



I have a tendency to jump right into the middle of things with little preparation. My knee-jerk preference is to charge ahead and if I get stuck, stop and read the directions – if I can find them. I would do this when I ride, too, if it wasn’t so glaringly plain this is not a knee-jerk preference for the horses. They simply don’t operate that way, and they will not be persuaded otherwise. Therefore, if I want Eddie (for example) to do well, I have to make sure I spend time, each and every ride, devoted to obsessing over getting organized. I must allow him the time to go through the steps needed to warm up. He has not varied from this requirement in the entire eighteen-plus-years I’ve known him.

Yes, he’s a little one-way about the whole thing.

Eddie, doing his job without me interfering
... yay, for me!
He doesn’t like it if I try to do his job, or expect him to do mine. We have a very distinct division of labor in our relationship and if I forget what it is, he will remind me. He doesn’t do this in a mean way. He simply gives me what I’m “really” asking for, and the usual result is me feeling like an idiot.  

Here’s a relatively benign example: it’s not up to me to hold his posture together, despite the fact that I know what it should be. That’s his job, and he can’t do it if I skip steps getting there and try to put him in place before it’s time. He will lean on my hands and remind me how much more he weighs than what I’m capable of lifting. Sure, I can remind him if he quits doing his job, and I can show him how I want him to conduct himself, but I can’t do it for him. Simply stated: He will let me. Times ten.

Horses are creatures of habit and routine. They need the sameness of a familiar warm-up in order to be assured they are doing the right job, in order not to be over-faced with demands from the rider. Routine is knowledge and security. Routine keeps the stress at bay.

Come to think of it, we humans need routine, too. As much as I hate to admit it. A big job becomes manageable if I break it down into a progression of steps I’m familiar with. Even well-known tasks can be overwhelming, like writing a book. If I remember to take it a logical and progressive piece at a time I can conquer what had previously appeared daunting.

I should remember this, since my horse insists.


Wednesday, April 25, 2012

When You're In A Hole, Stop Digging


Success equals mental preparation -- that's what Henrik pointed out at the instructors' seminar I attended. I can't argue with that. All things being equal, I can achieve my future goal for my horse only if I am sufficiently mentally prepared for each day's lesson and have a route planned to my vision of the future.

It sounds simple enough. Know where I'm going, pull out the road map, and learn the route.

Simple. Right. Ha, ha.

How many times have I ridden my horse thinking I was doing all the right things only to realize progress toward my goal had not only stalled out, but was deteriorating by the minute?

It's kind of like driving down a road, full of confidence my destination is minutes away, and then, after a while (a really long while), wondering why the scenery hasn't changed. Come to find out, I've been stuck in the mud, spinning my wheels. How did I not notice? It sure explains all those people standing around, exchanging glances and whispering among themselves. I could tell them I meant to get buried up to my axels, but we'd all know better.

Sigh.

It's about that time I start to realize, yet again, part of mental preparation is becoming familiar with what should be happening all along the way -- not just at the end when I've reached my goal. The route includes my ability to recognize the boggy places when encountered or, better yet, beforehand so they can be avoided.

Having someone point those mucky spots out is invaluable. But that can't happen every time I ride. Part of this learning process is to recognize, more quickly, when I get stuck. With luck -- okay, with sufficient mental preparation and luck -- I'll remember the tools to help extract me from the bog. Then, at some time in the future when I've experienced my quota of muck, I'll be able to avoid digging myself in. I'll have learned to see it coming and plotted the route around. Better yet, I'll have found the road without the potholes.

Until then, I'll have to be vigilant: Keep my goal in mind without seeking out the problems. I'd really hate to find out I've been planning a route from one problem to the next instead of my goal.

Monday, July 5, 2010

If It Wasn't For My Horse, I Wouldn't Have Understood Hegel

(Or, The Walk Can Fix The Canter)

One of the things I noticed early on in my riding career was that if I had problems getting the canter I magically knew it before hand at the walk. Using that ah-ha, I started paying more attention to my horse's walk asking myself, "if I want to canter right now, could I do it?" Through trail, error, and success I developed a feel for a walk that was sufficiently balanced for the horse to produce an obedient transition into canter. Problem solved...so I thought.

Then I started paying attention to the canter--mostly after seeing other people doing lovely canters on their horses and beating me at horse shows. With a better picture in my mind of what I was trying to achieve, I set to work to improve my horse's canter. This wasn't easy. Rocketing around the arena is not as conducive to thinking and analyzing as is the more sedate pace of the walk. Repeated efforts brought little improvement. Besides, it's freaking scary.

To preserve my life, I decided to shorten the duration of each foray into canter. Better--but not great. I shortened the duration further, with some slight improvement. Then I noticed the transition itself. If my horse tossed his head up for the transition, the canter and subsequent downward transition to walk was mediocre at best. Instead, if he raised his shoulders in the transition the canter was soft and lovely and the downward transition effortless. The solution was to have my horse raise his shoulders in the transition...but how could I make it consistent? I tried to keep his head down, hoping the shoulder would rise. Are you surprised things got worse? I didn't think so.

One day I happened to be reading a reference to a German philosopher by the name of Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (1770-1831). Besides being touted as the last man on earth to know everything (I seriously doubt that particular boast), and quoted as saying something like, the lesson of history is that man learns nothing from history (what a card), he (reportedly) said something I found useful. Paraphrased, for my use, it goes something like: You can't achieve a goal by doing the goal. I ruminated on this for a bit. Could it be I was trying to fix my horse's canter with the wrong approach? Next time I saddled up, I brought along my powers of observation. Within my fumbling around I noticed my horse's balance, straightness, and acknowledgement of each of my aids. When I addressed each of these items at the walk, and saw that my horse understood what I expected, the canter transformed.

Wow.

Hegel was right. You CAN fix the canter by improving the walk.