One Down, Five to Go

Sophie’s eyes widened and she sat back. The young woman with a pierced septum was looking sympathetically at me through my phone screen from somewhere in the Midwest, her round face framed by long, dark curls. I’d just told her I was hoping to use travel points to secure roundtrip flights to Mongolia early next fall but the dates of the trip haven’t been announced by the tour operators yet. She broke the news in gentle, measured tones. “Award space has already opened for September and the beginning of October and tends to fill quickly on routes to Asia.”

My shoulders slumped. Using travel points to book flights is key to making my goal of riding into the Golden Eagle Festival affordable. I jotted down notes while Sophie described route options and provided resources for researching fares, then thanked her for her time.

I started my washing machine and paused it after adding detergent pods to throw in a load of clothes. Then the tea kettle started screaming and I spun away without starting the laundry. Worry scrambled around my mind like a squirrel around a tree trunk. I needed to sit still. My body sank onto the couch, heavy with discouragement.

I was really hoping to go to Mongolia next year. And I’ve been writing publicly about my quest to ride into the Golden Eagle Festival. What happens to this project if I can’t go?

Good question.

There was a chorus in my head. When I considered the possibility of not going to Mongolia next year, a distraught voice cried, “That would be awful!” Calm and curious, another voice challenged, “Would it?”

This duet reminded me of the story about the Chinese farmer. When his only plow horse ran away, the neighbors lamented, “What terrible news!” The farmer shrugged and said, “Maybe, maybe not.” When the horse returned to the farmer accompanied by two additional horses, the neighbors exclaimed, “What wonderful news!” The farmer shrugged and said, “Maybe, maybe not.” While riding one of the new horses, the farmer’s son got bucked off and broke his leg, causing him to become bedridden and rendering him unable to help his father run the farm. You can imagine what the neighbors said. And then soldiers came through the village, conscripting all able-bodied young men into the army to fight in a bloody war.

So, I can’t know that missing out on this trip in 2026 would be a bad thing.

Of course, I may end up going to Mongolia next year after all. But if I don’t, what then? I could go on a different adventure which might be just as thrilling and try for Mongolia the following year. And if I do ride in Mongolia next year, what then? Goal achieved… blog completed?

No. Life (hopefully) goes on. My wild rides could, too.

I open my laptop and revisit the Globetrotting website. My trip to British Columbia had awakened a thirst for challenging experiences in beautiful natural settings that a single trip to Mongolia would not likely slake. Now I saw so many riding adventures that I’d want to go on: safari in Africa, trekking through Patagonia, exploring Iceland. How could I choose and prioritize trips over the next several years? I needed a larger vision.

So I close my eyes. Inhale slowly, exhale even slower. Then I gaze out the window at the red and gold leaves framing a patch of bright blue sky and ask myself, “If I dare to dream big, what do I really want?” I look back at the list of equestrian adventures around the world. Then it hits me.

To ride the continents.

Oh, hello. Where have you been for the past thirty-five years? You crazy dreamer, you strange, imaginative, rebellious child. Somewhere along the way I became convinced that you were nothing but trouble. That your needling demands for more, bigger, untamed, authentic living were incompatible with success. With belonging. So I called you fire and covered you over with a wet woolen blanket.

But here you are. Inextinguishable flame, encouraging me to speak what’s in my heart out loud and into the world. And so, I do. I proclaim to the Universe, I want to ride the continents and to write about it. Magic: desire becomes intention. The air shimmers and shivers run up my arms. My heart thumps, my eyes fill. Energy flows.

Then I tell my friends, and the intention grows stronger. I tell my family, it gathers mass. And now I’m telling you.

To ride the continents. It’s not a someday dream of a life I’ll live at some imagined point in the future, after I’ve followed the rules and worked hard enough or long enough, after the taskmaster in my head that is the internalized expectations of my toiling Catholic ancestors framed by the demands of our capitalist society decides I’ve earned it. It’s a dream I’ve claimed for the present. An intention I embody for a life I am already living.

There are adventures on horseback to be had on each of the six rideable continents. This year I rode in the mountains of British Columbia. North America, check.

One down, five to go.

Is there a “bigger vision” for your life which could or does serve as a framework for your goals and dreams?