(“She admitted she didn’t want to ‘look ugly.'”)

This is the age old question that instructors raise with themselves. “I can do it. I can explain it. I can invite my student to try it. She thinks she’s doing it. But she’s really not. Now what? “

It doesn’t really matter what “it” is—a half halt, a swinging back, self carriage, even just a responsive, attentive horse. Success, after all, is relative, and a student must be rewarded for trying, but sometimes you just know that again and again and again she is missing the point. And you wonder to yourself “Maybe she’s never gonna get it.”
Back when I was teaching instructor workshops for the USDF, there was a faction which felt that all our emphasis should be placed on the technical knowledge the instructors acquired. I certainly didn’t argue against technical expertise, but it seemed to me that since this aspect was to be ongoing and growing throughout the instructors’ entire careers, it seemed only logical to build their communications skills at the same time.

“It’s not just that you say the words. It’s not just that your student hears the words. It’s all about whether they understand them and can put them into practice.”

I wrote a blog a couple of years ago about a totally helpless woman I met in a clinic. It took her a good 20 meters to bring her horse from a walk to a halt. He simply ignored her. A hunt seat equitation refugee, she admitted she didn’t want to “look ugly.”

That’s when, employing a little tough love, I suggested it was better “to look ugly for a moment than to look stupid forever.” At the time I would not have taken a bet on whether she would ever really figure things out.

Fast forward to now and a different horse. When she began to ride him, he barely had training level skills. Together they just notched a legitimate 70% at First Level.

I recount this story not to pat her regular instructor or myself on the back for how cleverly we have changed her, but rather to reassure those of you who teach and those of you who do try to “get it right” that there’s always hope. The muse may descend. The light may flicker on. Pigs may even fly.

Al Michaels isn’t the only one who believes in miracles. We do too, and that’s why we keep coming back. We’ll hang in there if you will!