#96 | The ride of a lifetime
“Fear isn't so difficult to understand. After all, weren't we all frightened as children? Nothing has changed since Little Red Riding Hood faced the big bad wolf. What frightens us today is exactly the same sort of thing that frightened us yesterday. It's just a different wolf. This fright complex is rooted in every individual.” ― Alfred Hitchcock
“There’s a different point of view waiting if you just look up.” ― Mary Poppins
Let us imagine we're each a jockey. We're tiny, like 5'1", with a little coloured hat, jodhpurs and a riding whip.
We're fortunate to be given the most elegant, beautiful horse we could imagine for our first and only race. Picture our horse's mane hanging over her glowing hazel hair: big eyes, strong hoofs.
We walk her around a bit, feeling awe and wonder in the first instance. How lucky are we — she’s so beautiful!
However, without realising it, this feeling vanishes.
Soon after being given this horse, we hold it by the reigns thanklessly, hardly realising it's a gift. We do not realise how blessed we've been.
We've already started to look at the other horses, led by those close to us.
Despite sensing this discontentment, our horse remains with us loyally, even when we look elsewhere.
We each walk alongside our horses for the first part of our journey. There is no delusion that we control the direction — she leads the way; we merely follow.
Twenty per cent or so into our journey, we, as the jockey, mount our horse and start cantering and riding. And it's fun! Perhaps we crack the whip and dig in our heels.
And while we feel like we're controlling the direction, taking her left or right, speeding up or slowing down, we're actually merely going where she wants to take us.
We feel like we're directing our journey, but her immense size and strength betray the truth; we're a gnat on an elephant's back. We're led and follow dutifully.
So, we're having a good time.
Except, we're so obsessed with the other horses ridden by the other jockeys we meet.
Their horses are a little bit taller, perhaps, but slightly slower (though we don't notice). They may have a longer tail (but a shorter mane). Their horses are different, and we obsess about some differences but not others. We become captivated by the other horses going in other directions, and we fail to appreciate our own.
Part of us realises we're not in control at all. Alternative directions and destinations appear more alluring. We become frustrated that we're heading towards our horizon, not another.
Time goes by. Years begin to feel like months; hours like minutes.
Mere cantering turns to a gallop. It's going to be over so soon.
From time to time, perhaps because we feel like we don't experience enough or are not going fast enough, we try and extend ourselves to ride a second horse, reaching one foot out perilously as we gallop along. But this spells disaster — it's impossible to hold on to both. We may ride both horses for a moment, yet we quickly tumble. The new horse runs off; ours stays loyal.
The journey finishes. We're still with our horse, who is as strong as ever.
Perhaps, at the end of the ride, we realise (for an instant) how lucky we are to have had the horse we had.
With awe, euphoria, and a fair amount of horror, we realise what experiences we've missed by looking elsewhere and not appreciating our luck. We've been fighting against our destination, not leaning toward it.
But that point of realisation is too late. We love our horse with a deep, compassionate, surrendering, unquestioning love, but once we realise this, there's no more time to ride.
Wouldn't you want to have this realisation sooner?
My week in books
Only the Paranoid Survive by Andrew Grove. A good take on developing paranoia and conviction as a founder.
"If you're wrong, you will die. But most companies don't die because they are wrong; most die because they don't commit themselves. They fritter away their valuable resources while attempting to make a decision. The greatest danger is in standing still"
Live well,
H