When I was ten, our family moved from California to Minnesota. This was 1974 so pretty much everything about that image applies. I felt like my life was moving backwards. It might have been a total psychological train wreck except that my parents decided against the familiar environs of suburbia. Instead, they purchased an old country house outside the tiny community of Hamel, MN.
This turned out to be an incredible surprise and a great blessing for a young boy whole loved to be outside. I played in the woods, tromped through the alfalfa and built enormous snow forts in the winter drifts. But the greatest blessing was that my dad purchased two horses, a two-year old Appaloosa mix for me and an overweight Shetland that was supposedly for my sisters. I named my horse, Dakota and my sister named its companion, Pearl. My dad paid $75 for the Appaloosa and I am pretty sure the farmer threw in the Shetland just to get rid of her. The Shetland was utterly wild and my sisters were only seven so they never actually sat on Pearl's back. But Dakota had some training (they actually call it breaking). So I rode her just about every day that the weather was agreeable; or at least I tried.
The thing is, neither I nor my parents knew anything about horses. I helped my dad assemble a cheap electronic fence that took up a couple of acres of our land. We kept water in the tank and hay in the barn—which was really just a wind shelter. But other than that, we just sort of learned as we went along. The truth was Dakota could escape the fence pretty much any time she had the inclination. But she never went far. We'd find her standing in the front yard or clomping on the porch. One time, my mother was airing out the house and Dakota stuck her head though the open kitchen door.
We understood stuff like this. We knew about cats and dogs and that it was important to love your pets. But Dakota was a horse and it's sort of the point of horses to enjoy riding them. But my experience with that was limited. I had ridden some with our neighbors, Sandy and Julie. And I had watched TV—you now those Westerns where cowboys just jerk the reins and the horse takes off in a full gallop in exactly the direction the rider wants to go. So that was sort of my model. I would hop on Dakota's back, yank her mouth in the direction I wanted her to go and give her a firm kick to let her know that I was in charge. (Remember we are talking about a ten-year-old boy so there’s no need to call PETA just yet.)
Well, the results were mixed. Sometimes Dakota would respond and sometimes no. In fact, sometimes she seemed to purposely do the very opposite thing that I was commanding. I would pull left and she would go right. The harder I yanked her head in the direction I wanted to go, the more she would defy me. I chalked it up to my $75 horse. After all, those two beautiful horses that belonged to Sandy and Julie didn’t act like that. Whenever I rode with them, even Dakota seemed to behave. I figured it had to be the difference between their real horses and the one my dad picked up in a two-for-one fire sale.
That's how it went. I rode Dakota a lot. Sometimes alone and sometimes with Sandy and Julie. It was pretty much a constant negotiation. I almost always rode bareback so I was sort of at her mercy. Sometimes we'd get two miles from home, running through a hay field and she would shy to avoid a gopher hole, conveniently lowering her head at the same time. I'd sail off according to one of Newton's laws and it would be 50-50 whether or not I'd be walking the rest of the way home.
Then one day, I was riding with Sandy and Julie and Julie suggested that we trade for a while. I think she took pity on me because I had been struggling with Dakota. So she invited me to ride her horse, Comanche. He probably rolled his eyes at the suggestion but I was thrilled. But as soon as I got on, I discovered my problems weren't necessarily the horse. It was the same challenge. I would yank right and Comanche would either just stand there or insist on going left. Was this contagious? Was I just such a wimp that every horse on the planet was just bound and determined to reject my authority?
After a few moments of watching me try to wrestle respect out of her gentle Morgan, Julie stopped me and said something that I will never forget, “Remember, he doesn’t straight-rein. Pulling on his bit like that is only going to confuse him.” Sandy then proceeded to explain to me the difference between straight-reining and neck-reining. I learned that all I had to do was hold the reins together and move my hand in the direction that I wanted Comanche to go. At first, I thought she was crazy. If he didn't respond to all that jerking and kicking, how in the world was he going to understand something as delicate as a single strap of leather across the side of his neck. But it turned out Sandy and Julie were right. Here I was a ten-year-old actually directing a 1000-pound beast. It seems altogether too simple. It was the first time I realized how smart horses really were.
You see, a good riding horse is not driven by the bit in its mouth. It learns to pay attention to the feel of the rein on its neck. What appeared to me as effortless direction was really nothing more than communicating in a language that Comanche understood. As sad as it is, it all makes sense now. The whole process was a reversal from my thinking. I began with the assumption that horses are essentially stupid creatures that need to be broken and controlled. Consequently, I assumed the bit was the key because it was the most obvious and apparently powerful steering mechanism available. So while I tugged the rein across my body to the left in order to bring the bit further to right, this also brought the strap of the rein to the right side of the horse’s neck. I imagined that I was directing the horse right but the rein on his neck was telling him that I wanted to go left. As I escalated what I assumed to be a battle, the horse only became further confused.
Even though the concept of neck-reining is really quite simple, it took me a while to get. Or perhaps rather, it took me a while to actually believe it--to believe that gentleness and meaningful communication really does outperform violence and control. But I sure get it now. I see coaches or teachers yanking bits and screaming at kids. I see bosses who act more like ten-year-olds torturing respect out of their coworkers. It’s so very sad and so very unnecessary. I don’t even know if there really is such a thing as straight-reining. It's probably just a made up word to make idiots feel like their strategy actually has a name.
The truth is I probably ruined Dakota, at least in the time that we had her. Even though she loved me and our whole family, I imagine she hated those negotiations probably more than I did. Who knows, maybe she'd even been taught to neck-rein before we got her. She might have been happy to walk me through the woods and alfalfa, if I had only had the sense to stop yanking at that bit.
A few years later we moved again. I ended up selling Dakota to a girl who had her properly trained. She turned out to be a lovely riding horse, walking in parades and shows. I am actually very happy it turned out this way but looking back, it also makes me sad. I wish I could go back and see her sticking her nose through that front door. I'd hug her around the neck. I'd tell her how sorry I am now for being such a stupid animal.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
Imperfect Stories
A man walked out of of his house one morning to pick up the paper. He was startled to find that several trash bags had been piled in his front yard overnight, many more than the city would accept. This was during a period in which trash had gotten considerably out of hand. Citizens were not allowed to use the landfill and strict restrictions had been placed on weekly disposal. Understanding this, the man decided to call his neighbor and see if he might be willing to help. So the man walked back into his house to make the call. To his delight, there was already a message on the answering machine. It was from his neighbor inviting him over for breakfast.
The man was elated and believed this to be a great sign. He would discuss the matter of the bags over the morning coffee. He quickly left the house, slung two bags on either shoulder and started down the street toward the home of his friend who was waiting for him on the porch. But as the man approached the house, he recognized a similar sight. The neighbor's yard was likewise strewn with bags of trash, many more than the city would accept. Embarrassed now by his presumption, the man hurried back home, dropped the four bags onto his own yard and then proceeded once again to the home of his friend. Once the two men got over the awkwardness of the moment, they were able to enjoy a wonderful breakfast.
What an imperfect story, huh? Even writing it was painful. We like our stories resolved. We like to see clear solutions to problems... reliable ways to get rid of the trash in our lives. But sometimes the path is not clear--or at least not yet clear. Sometimes we have to wait. We have to live with those bags a little longer than we would like.
There is not a lot we can do to speed things up at the landfill. But there are things we can focus on in the meantime. If the trash is piling up but really no place for it to go--at least in the short run, why not turn our attention elsewhere? Sure, we might want to get those bags out of the front yard--maybe pile them next to the house or in the garage or something. But then, why not spend some time and energy elsewhere? Maybe we could write an ole fashion letter to a friend or paint the bonus room with the kids. Maybe we could have breakfast with a neighbor and then the two of us can work on the problem together. It might not get solved right away but we will have at least enjoyed the moment.
The man was elated and believed this to be a great sign. He would discuss the matter of the bags over the morning coffee. He quickly left the house, slung two bags on either shoulder and started down the street toward the home of his friend who was waiting for him on the porch. But as the man approached the house, he recognized a similar sight. The neighbor's yard was likewise strewn with bags of trash, many more than the city would accept. Embarrassed now by his presumption, the man hurried back home, dropped the four bags onto his own yard and then proceeded once again to the home of his friend. Once the two men got over the awkwardness of the moment, they were able to enjoy a wonderful breakfast.
What an imperfect story, huh? Even writing it was painful. We like our stories resolved. We like to see clear solutions to problems... reliable ways to get rid of the trash in our lives. But sometimes the path is not clear--or at least not yet clear. Sometimes we have to wait. We have to live with those bags a little longer than we would like.
There is not a lot we can do to speed things up at the landfill. But there are things we can focus on in the meantime. If the trash is piling up but really no place for it to go--at least in the short run, why not turn our attention elsewhere? Sure, we might want to get those bags out of the front yard--maybe pile them next to the house or in the garage or something. But then, why not spend some time and energy elsewhere? Maybe we could write an ole fashion letter to a friend or paint the bonus room with the kids. Maybe we could have breakfast with a neighbor and then the two of us can work on the problem together. It might not get solved right away but we will have at least enjoyed the moment.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Having a Voice
I have had laryngitis for over a week now. From what I understand, this is not life-threatening. It is, however, a bit frustrating and inconvenient for someone who's occupation is so closely tied up with speaking. Every time someone asks me how I am doing, I assure them that I am "doing better." I hope by now it's true.
I have always had this thing about having a voice. Not so much in terms of my current condition but in terms of having the right or the means to be heard. I am not sure where this comes from really. But it's something that I have carried most of my life. I even wrote my dissertation on it.
We hear about equality and access but a lot of this is really just talk. There are so many gates and doors...tables guarded by invisible fences. We see this most readily in politics and money-circles but it goes well beyond that. The place that I learned the most about all this was the academy. Higher Education trumpets itself as the noble storehouse of free speech and open dialogue but, in fact, it is one of the most prestigious clubs in the world.
The table of knowledge and even discourse about knowledge is an exclusive place. Sadly, it has gotten to the point where the only way that one can find a seat is to sign-off on everything that the establishment has declared sacred. This is really not all that surprising. Seats of power typically operate under similar constraints. But the irony here is that education is suppose to be about expanding the reach of human knowledge. The rise of the Modern University was largely a response to the Church's failure to listen as well as to speak.
So what happens when the Academy becomes a sealed up can of tuna? Where does the world turn for new ideas when the only ideas that are allowed to reach the table are old and stale? Where might we find the kind of knowledge that might actually break through the choking ideologies of our time?
Curiously, the answer must come from the outside--from the very people who have been essentially written-off by the Academy. Right? Because once the filters have been refined to the point of allowing only like-minded people at the table, the game is essentially over. When dialogue only goes in one direction, truth becomes awfully hard to sustain.
The Church learned this lesson several hundred years ago when it made the decision to listen only to its own voice. In so doing, the Church lost credibility--not only with the larger world but with many of its own adherents. In a way, the Church became imprisoned by its own pride. It was at that point that the Church sort of passed the responsibility for Truth to the University. The Academy has been trusted with the role as harbinger of knowledge for some time. That responsibility, however, is waning.
People are realizing that there are questions that the familiar answers don't necessarily fit. Some are beginning to speak up--disagreeing with long-standing assumptions introduced and then strengthened by the confident voice of the Higher Education. Of course, these are harder to hear--the questions and alternative answers. These voices are out there. They may not hold the official stamp of the door and the gate and the sacred table. But they are voices nonetheless.
This is quite a thing to see--the university becoming the very thing that it once stood against.
I have always had this thing about having a voice. Not so much in terms of my current condition but in terms of having the right or the means to be heard. I am not sure where this comes from really. But it's something that I have carried most of my life. I even wrote my dissertation on it.
We hear about equality and access but a lot of this is really just talk. There are so many gates and doors...tables guarded by invisible fences. We see this most readily in politics and money-circles but it goes well beyond that. The place that I learned the most about all this was the academy. Higher Education trumpets itself as the noble storehouse of free speech and open dialogue but, in fact, it is one of the most prestigious clubs in the world.
The table of knowledge and even discourse about knowledge is an exclusive place. Sadly, it has gotten to the point where the only way that one can find a seat is to sign-off on everything that the establishment has declared sacred. This is really not all that surprising. Seats of power typically operate under similar constraints. But the irony here is that education is suppose to be about expanding the reach of human knowledge. The rise of the Modern University was largely a response to the Church's failure to listen as well as to speak.
So what happens when the Academy becomes a sealed up can of tuna? Where does the world turn for new ideas when the only ideas that are allowed to reach the table are old and stale? Where might we find the kind of knowledge that might actually break through the choking ideologies of our time?
Curiously, the answer must come from the outside--from the very people who have been essentially written-off by the Academy. Right? Because once the filters have been refined to the point of allowing only like-minded people at the table, the game is essentially over. When dialogue only goes in one direction, truth becomes awfully hard to sustain.
The Church learned this lesson several hundred years ago when it made the decision to listen only to its own voice. In so doing, the Church lost credibility--not only with the larger world but with many of its own adherents. In a way, the Church became imprisoned by its own pride. It was at that point that the Church sort of passed the responsibility for Truth to the University. The Academy has been trusted with the role as harbinger of knowledge for some time. That responsibility, however, is waning.
People are realizing that there are questions that the familiar answers don't necessarily fit. Some are beginning to speak up--disagreeing with long-standing assumptions introduced and then strengthened by the confident voice of the Higher Education. Of course, these are harder to hear--the questions and alternative answers. These voices are out there. They may not hold the official stamp of the door and the gate and the sacred table. But they are voices nonetheless.
This is quite a thing to see--the university becoming the very thing that it once stood against.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Winners and Losers
Great game last night. The best part for me was being distracted from my current ill-health for a while. That's one of only a few compelling arguments for television. It is good for people who are sick or sad or really, really old.
The second best part of the game was rooting for a guy who is almost my age. Curt Warner went to The University of Northern Iowa, Diane's Alma mater. He was third on the depth chart until his senior year when he went on a tear and became the Player of the Year in the conference. Warner's age and the fact that they had never gotten near the Lombardi trophy sort of made it inevitable that I would be rooting for Arizona last night. No offensive to the Steeler fans out there though. After that crazy two-minute drive at the end of the game, Pittsburgh definitely deserved to win.
What a Herculean effort on both sides. Arizona is castigated all month for their poor defense and then they come through with several goal line stands. Sure, it was one fewer than they needed but if you have actually played this game, it is tough to say that the Cardinals lost. That's just sort of a screwy aspect of our culture. All those games, all those elections, all those reality shows. There can only be one... It'll wear you out if you take it too seriously.
Anyway, congratulations to the Steelers, the city of Pittsburgh and to all their fans. And hats-off to both team for taking what is really just an excuse for a big party and still giving 100%.
Here's a couple of other comments on winning and losing:
Well there's people and more people
What do they know know know
Go to work in some high rise
And vacation down at the Gulf of Mexico
And there's winners and there's losers
But they ain't no big deal
'Cause the simple man baby pays for the thrills, the bills,
the pills that kill
(John Mellencamp, "Pink Houses")
He wants to dream like a young man
With the wisdom of an old man
He wants his home and security
He wants to live like a sailor at sea
Beautiful loser, where you gonna fall
When you realize you just can't have it all
He's your oldest and your best friend
If you need him he'll be there again
He's always willing to be second best
A perfect lodger, a perfect guest
Beautiful loser, read it on the wall
And realize you just don't need it all
You just don't need it all...
He'll never make any enemies, enemies
He won't complain if he's caught in a freeze, no
He'll always ask, he'll always say please
Oh beautiful loser, never take it all
Cause it's easier and faster when you fall
Oh you just don't need it all
(Bob Seger, "Beautiful Loser")
The second best part of the game was rooting for a guy who is almost my age. Curt Warner went to The University of Northern Iowa, Diane's Alma mater. He was third on the depth chart until his senior year when he went on a tear and became the Player of the Year in the conference. Warner's age and the fact that they had never gotten near the Lombardi trophy sort of made it inevitable that I would be rooting for Arizona last night. No offensive to the Steeler fans out there though. After that crazy two-minute drive at the end of the game, Pittsburgh definitely deserved to win.
What a Herculean effort on both sides. Arizona is castigated all month for their poor defense and then they come through with several goal line stands. Sure, it was one fewer than they needed but if you have actually played this game, it is tough to say that the Cardinals lost. That's just sort of a screwy aspect of our culture. All those games, all those elections, all those reality shows. There can only be one... It'll wear you out if you take it too seriously.
Anyway, congratulations to the Steelers, the city of Pittsburgh and to all their fans. And hats-off to both team for taking what is really just an excuse for a big party and still giving 100%.
Here's a couple of other comments on winning and losing:
Well there's people and more people
What do they know know know
Go to work in some high rise
And vacation down at the Gulf of Mexico
And there's winners and there's losers
But they ain't no big deal
'Cause the simple man baby pays for the thrills, the bills,
the pills that kill
(John Mellencamp, "Pink Houses")
He wants to dream like a young man
With the wisdom of an old man
He wants his home and security
He wants to live like a sailor at sea
Beautiful loser, where you gonna fall
When you realize you just can't have it all
He's your oldest and your best friend
If you need him he'll be there again
He's always willing to be second best
A perfect lodger, a perfect guest
Beautiful loser, read it on the wall
And realize you just don't need it all
You just don't need it all...
He'll never make any enemies, enemies
He won't complain if he's caught in a freeze, no
He'll always ask, he'll always say please
Oh beautiful loser, never take it all
Cause it's easier and faster when you fall
Oh you just don't need it all
(Bob Seger, "Beautiful Loser")
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