I learned another great consequence that comes from having to work so hard to get your business off the ground.
You learn to overapply yourself.
I was talking to my vet a few days ago. She noticed the mat of loose hair on my lower calves and ankles and exclaimed, "You've been riding!" (It's shedding season, and that's the part of my leg that makes contact with the horse below the saddle.)
She assailed me with questions about where I was riding, how long I'd been at it. I told how I'd torn my knee about three years ago, wreaking further havoc on an old injury. Faced with another daunting year of pain, physical therapy and starting all over with martial arts, I'd promised myself I would take up riding as a reward.
I told her what I learned from the riding school's horse that first year.
Now, "school horse" is a term any rider will recognize, even people who hardly ever ride at all. These are the older horses who get farmed out to every new rider. They are usually bored, stubborn and set in their ways. They know you have NO IDEA what you're doing, and they take complete advantage of that.
One day, in utter frustration with my assigned horse, I expressed my feelings to my instructor.
She said, "Chance may not be the very best horse in the world, but right now he is the very best horse for YOU. You are recovering from major knee surgery, and he is SAFE."
She thought a moment and added, "And Chance already knows everything he needs to know. YOU'RE the one who needs to learn how to tell him CLEARLY what you want."
I knew she was right. And what she told me that day has inspired me many times since then--how, similarly, as artists, we must learn to signal our full intention in our work and in our lives to get what we truly want.
I shared that with my vet, and she said she thought that was very wise.
"I'll tell you something else that's good about those old school horses!" she said. "You REALLY learn to ride."
Her family couldn't afford a horse when she was young, but she had many opportunities to ride--and she did. She had a throroughly rounded little boat of a pony called Bubble Dancer who had a mind of her own when it came to riding.
Donna had to work really hard to get much of a ride from this old girl, but boy, did she learn to ride!
The day came when she was competing in the ring with the pony, and only she and one other girl was left.
The other girl had a beautiful little "push button" horse--beautifully trained and cooperative. All this girl had to do was lightly signal what she wanted and the horse quickly obliged.
The two girls went back and forth, putting their ponies through all their paces. The judges could not decide.
Finally they said, "Switch horses!"
Donna burst out laughing. "And there I was on the beautiful little push-button horse, putting her through all her paces and marveling at the feeling, and there was Susie, flailing and yanking and kicking on my stubborn little Bubble Dancer!"
Donna won.
I think of the people that success has come too easily to, or too quickly. When hard times came, many didn't know how to work that new, stubborn pony. They've gotten used to the "push button" horse, the one that works no matter how many mistakes they make.
If you've had to work hard at your art or your business for awhile, then you're learning something more valuable. You've learned to do the work. You've learned to be consistent with your efforts. You've learned how much you can accomplish if you really set your mind to it.
You've learned to make the hard phone calls. You've learned to persevere even when it gets really, really hard. You've learned to make your intentions so clear, so strong, there is no mistaking what you want and where you're going.
The next time you're envying the artist who's achieved what seems like easy, instant success, remember the school horse lesson.
And remember, maybe they HAVE ridden the school horse. And now they're just making it LOOK like an easy ride.
