The One Where Monique Has "Fun"

Today my horse and I had a training session with one of our favourite humans: Katie, from Equestrian Movement. We have been trying to build Comanche’s confidence through sparking his curiosity. Part of this process is learning about what he enjoys doing and spending time “playing” together. Here’s the thing though: I am not good at having “fun.” Don’t get me wrong, I like fun. As an actor I get paid to play make-believe all day; but nobody would ever describe me as loose.

Today Katie smacked me with the truth stick: “Comanche has become a chore…” Katie is very smart. But that was only part of the truth. So here is the whole truth: My entire life has become a chore.

So now I’m sitting here trying to rack my brain about what it was that ever appealed to me about “adulthood” in the first place. When I was a kid I spent hours dreaming, scheming and planning out exactly what my adult life would look like. Cut to present day and I’m sitting here down on “Skid Row” wondering what I was in such a rush to grow up for. I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s not all bad. I’ve come a fairly long way since high school, I’ve achieved most of the things that I dreamed about doing. I have my dream job, dream horse and live by myself, debt free. I am by all intents and purposes “living the dream.” 13 year old me would be ecstatic, so why is 27 year old me so drained?

When Comanche tries to do what I ask I’m supposed to praise him excitedly and give him treats. I am a great actress; I know what excitement sounds like, so I gush “Who’s such a smart boy?! You are! Good job baby!” I know what excitement looks like so I give him a treat, scratch his neck and ruffle his forelock “You’re so clever!” But he is not buying this performance and neither is Katie, so she tells me to go bigger. This is where the wheels always come off, because “bigger” actually means “deeper” and this is where I struggle, because I can’t feel excitement. It’s not like I don’t know how, I try to spark a sensation but it just crackles over the surface of my skin and disappears.

Part of the training process is figuring out about who Comanche was before he was “conditioned.” Katie says “Comanche” but she 100% means me. Here is the thing about horses - they are mirrors. Comanche will reflect whatever I am feeling back onto me; so I need to figure my own sh!t out before we can deal with him. “Who were you before you were conditioned?” I’ll let that sink in for a minute. Now that you’ve had a moment… how the hell are you supposed to figure that out? Aren’t we all conditioned from birth? In Comanche’s case he’s been turned out with the herd of school horses since January so he can rediscover his roots and get back to his “natural state”, so that’s him covered… but what about me? How do I get back to my “pre-conditioned” state?

On Friday mornings my boss is Katie’s two year old son, Finn. I look after him whilst Katie teaches other students about horses. I love Finn. Finn picks up a pink stick of chalk, tells me it’s red, draws something that resembles a hurricane and proudly exclaims “Dinosaur!!” It is a great dinosaur! I draw a line he looks at it in awe and squeals “TREE!!” He is also smart… or I am just predictable. I like living in Finn’s world where lines are trees, hurricanes are dinosaurs and colour is just a suggestion. It doesn’t matter what I do, from sweeping the breezeway to following hoof prints in the sand, Finn just makes it magical. Dust and hair sent flying by the broom suddenly become fairies dancing on sunbeams, hoof prints become “dinosaur tracks” and time is no longer hunting me. Is this what life before conditioning looks like? I’m not really sure, but this seems like a good place to start. Maybe it’s time to reconnect with my inner child.