The First Thing I Do Is.....

Last week I talked about #FormulasYouCanTrust.

This week I've been thinking about what happens when the formula suddenly stops feeling quite so trustworthy.

Something changes.

And I've realized something rather strange about us humans.

We say we don't like change. Yet the minute something catches our attention, our first instinct is often to change absolutely everything else.

A horse moves barns and seems unsettled.

Change the feed. Add a supplement. Change the turnout. Maybe it's the saddle. Perhaps it's the bit. Call the vet? The bodyworker? The trainer?

All perfectly reasonable thoughts.

But if we change everything at once, how do we ever know which thing actually mattered?

I've been importing horses from Ireland since 1996, and it taught me a lot about this.

Imagine you're the horse.

You've just travelled thousands of miles across the Atlantic.

The water tastes different. The forage is different. The weather is different. The barn smells different. Your friends and the routine you've known have disappeared.

There's a new person standing outside your stall who is absolutely delighted to see you — and you haven't the foggiest idea who the hell she is.

Then she puts a saddle on you.

Right Paddy, let's see what we've bought. 😂

We call that a new horse arriving.

From the horse's point of view, his entire bloody world just disappeared.

That's why one of my first questions wasn't:

What should we change?

It was:

What can we keep the same?

I would help owners find feed they could readily access that was as close as possible to what the horse had been eating in Ireland.

Not because Irish feed possesses some magical Celtic fairy dust.

Because the horse already had enough to figure out.

And somewhere along the way, I realized I was doing exactly the same thing with riders.

I've taught for more than 45 years. Many people who come to me are nervous, have had a bad experience, lost confidence or are young riders still figuring themselves out.

Sometimes they're trying so desperately to get everything right that trying to get everything right has become the problem.

Think about what we sometimes do to a nervous rider.

Hands. Heels. Eyes. Shoulders. Reins. Leg. Sit up.

RELAX!!!

😂

Seven instructions in twenty seconds to somebody who was already worried.

Then we wonder why she freezes.

So I started asking a different question:

What's the ONE thing I can change that makes everything else easier?

One small success creates confidence.

Confidence changes the rider.

The horse feels the change and responds differently.

Suddenly we've created a completely different cycle.

One change. Not seven.

But here's where horses taught me something that has absolutely nothing to do with horses.

How much of our own lives do we make harder because we're uncomfortable waiting?

Something goes wrong in business — change the plan.

We're frightened — change direction.

We're impatient — add something.

We're uncertain — do anything, because doing something feels better than doing nothing.

I've certainly done it.

Because doing nothing for a moment can feel remarkably like losing control.

Except sometimes it isn't.

Sometimes you're gathering information.

Sometimes you're allowing something to settle.

Sometimes you're discovering whether the thing you thought was a problem was actually just a transition.

And sometimes the first thing you need to change...

is your need to change something.

The horse doesn't know you've owned him for three weeks.

A nervous rider's confidence doesn't know she's supposed to be jumping that height by October.

Your business doesn't know what the spreadsheet said should have happened Tuesday.

And life most certainly hasn't read your five-year plan.

After 54 years of life, most of it spent around horses, I think I'm finally beginning to understand something they've been trying to teach me all along.

When things become uncertain, humans tend to get louder.

We add. We change. We interfere. We try harder.

Horses often ask us to do the opposite.

Get quieter.

Watch.

Listen.

Give it a minute.

Change what actually needs changing.

Leave the rest alone.

So now, when I'm faced with a horse, a rider, a business problem — or sometimes just myself — the first thing I do is.....

Ask what happens if I don't interfere yet.

Funny.

I thought I'd spent my life teaching horses and riders.

Turns out they've been teaching me.

Until next time, be kind. Be the person you needed when you were starting out.

And maybe this week ask yourself one uncomfortable question:

What are you trying desperately to fix that might just need a little time?

— Fleur

#FormulasYouCanTrust
Reset. Reboot. Rebuild. Restore.

Last week I talked about #FormulasYouCanTrust.

This week I've been thinking about what happens when the formula suddenly stops feeling quite so trustworthy.

Something changes.

And I've realized something rather strange about us humans.

We say we don't like change. Yet the minute something changes, our first instinct is often to change absolutely everything else.

A horse moves barns and seems unsettled.

Change the feed. Add a supplement. Change the turnout. Maybe it's the saddle. Perhaps it's the bit. Call the vet? The bodyworker? The trainer?

All perfectly reasonable thoughts.

But if we change everything at once, how do we ever know which thing actually mattered?

I've been importing horses from Ireland since 1996, and it taught me a lot about this.

Imagine you're the horse.

You've just travelled thousands of miles across the Atlantic.

The water tastes different. The forage is different. The weather is different. The barn smells different. Your friends and the routine you've known have disappeared.

There's a new person standing outside your stall who is absolutely delighted to see you — and you haven't the foggiest idea who the hell she is.

Then she puts a saddle on you.

Right Paddy, let's see what we've bought. 😂

We call that a new horse arriving.

From the horse's point of view, his entire bloody world just disappeared.

That's why one of my first questions wasn't:

What should we change?

It was:

What can we keep the same?

I would help owners find feed they could readily access that was as close as possible to what the horse had been eating in Ireland.

Not because Irish feed possesses some magical Celtic fairy dust.

Because the horse already had enough to figure out.

And somewhere along the way, I realized I was doing exactly the same thing with riders.

I've taught for more than 45 years. Many people who come to me are nervous, have had a bad experience, lost confidence or are young riders still figuring themselves out.

Sometimes they're trying so desperately to get everything right that trying to get everything right has become the problem.

Think about what we sometimes do to a nervous rider.

Hands. Heels. Eyes. Shoulders. Reins. Leg. Sit up.

RELAX!!!

😂

Seven instructions in twenty seconds to somebody who was already worried.

Then we wonder why she freezes.

So I started asking a different question:

What's the ONE thing I can change that makes everything else easier?

One small success creates confidence.

Confidence changes the rider.

The horse feels the change and responds differently.

Suddenly we've created a completely different cycle.

One change. Not seven.

But here's where horses taught me something that has absolutely nothing to do with horses.

How much of our own lives do we make harder because we're uncomfortable waiting?

Something goes wrong in business — change the plan.

We're frightened — change direction.

We're impatient — add something.

We're uncertain — do anything, because doing something feels better than doing nothing.

I've certainly done it.

Because doing nothing for a moment can feel remarkably like losing control.

Except sometimes it isn't.

Sometimes you're gathering information.

Sometimes you're allowing something to settle.

Sometimes you're discovering whether the thing you thought was a problem was actually just a transition.

And sometimes the first thing you need to change...

is your need to change something.

The horse doesn't know you've owned him for three weeks.

A nervous rider's confidence doesn't know she's supposed to be jumping that height by October.

Your business doesn't know what the spreadsheet said should have happened Tuesday.

And life most certainly hasn't read your five-year plan.

After 54 years of life, most of it spent around horses, I think I'm finally beginning to understand something they've been trying to teach me all along.

When things become uncertain, humans tend to get louder.

We add. We change. We interfere. We try harder.

Horses often ask us to do the opposite.

Get quieter.

Watch.

Listen.

Give it a minute.

Change what actually needs changing.

Leave the rest alone.

So now, when I'm faced with a horse, a rider, a business problem — or sometimes just myself — the first thing I do is.....

Ask what happens if I don't interfere yet.

Funny.

I thought I'd spent my life teaching horses and riders.

Turns out they've been teaching me.

Until next time, be kind. Be the person you needed when you were starting out.

And maybe this week ask yourself one uncomfortable question:

What are you trying desperately to fix that might just need a little time?

— Fleur

#FormulasYouCanTrust
Reset. Reboot. Rebuild. Restore.