When you are a born to a horse-loving mom and don’t share the same insane passion, it can be tough going. Especially when horses are woven into the fabric of your daily life. Especially when you are the only son, blessed with four sisters who ride. The irony is that my son—the non-rider, the never-will-be-McLain—inspires me the most in my horse life. He’s a constant reminder of the things that matter and things I need to let go of. 

My 11-year-old son is my reality check. One day, I was in a mental funk while driving him to soccer (thank goodness one-fifth of my brood prefers cheap sports). I was stuck on how my eldest daughter is horseless and sad right now. Her lease ended, and we can’t find a new horse that wouldn’t require a second mortgage. I was all gloom-and-dooming and woe-is-me-ing over how horses cost SO much money.

Out of the blue, my son blurted from the back seat, “Mom, I feel lucky inside today. I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel lucky in my belly.” He shocked me back to reality. This kid was fuller of gratitude than I, a grown woman lamenting over how to afford horses. 

Like magic, my kid’s luckiness bubbled up inside me, replacing the negative vibes. He gave me a swift-kick reminder: We are lucky, even if we can’t find the perfect equine for my daughter in the imminent future. Even if we can’t escape during the winter to bask in Florida horse life, we’ve got it good. Any life with horses is a lucky life. Thanks for the reminder to live in the here and now, buddy.

My son is immune to some of the icky feels that can come along with existence in the bubble of privilege that is the equestrian realm. I don’t take pride in it, but I’m only human. There are moments I’m sucked into the black hole of social media, comparing myself: Wow, she just bought a second fancy horse! See her daughter on Insta, glamming it up at Pony Finals? It seems like it all comes so effortlessly. It looks perfect. But my son is the best sort of reminder to feel good for others rather than be overcome by envy. He brings me to my senses.

Like when his basketball team finally made it to the championships last winter. He was amped on adrenaline, like an eventing horse in the start box, ready to attack cross-country. His team played hard. Though they fought until the end, they lost. Players wilted dejectedly on the bench afterwards, some swiping away tears. My son sat quietly on the drive home. 

“What’s up, Bud?” I asked him. “Are you disappointed?” I was ready to give him a Mom-can-fix-all pep talk and put a bandage over his hurt.

 “No, Mom, I’m thankful. We got to play in a championship game,” he said, adding,  “I’m happy for the kids who won.” 

This kid has nothing to prove to anyone. He plays because he loves every sneaker-squeaking moment on the court. How does this translate to me and my crazy horse life? He pulls me back when I feel dissatisfaction creeping in. Get over it, Jamie. You don’t do the horses to win. You don’t need to waste valuable time striving for fancy, filtered perfection. You do the horses because you can’t survive without them. It’s pure passion. My preteen humbles me effortlessly, and I love the kid for it.

Though my boy spends less time than my girls down at the barn, the time we do spend alone together is precious. He’s embraced farm life with gusto; he’s my sidekick during chores. His favorite tasks are water-bucket-filling, wheelbarrow-dumping and feeding. Grooming is also a quiet act he enjoys. Even if we’re just scrubbing buckets, we embrace that alone time together in the soothing quiet of our barn. He’s taught me to enjoy these simple acts, to remember this is all part of our journey with horses.

What I also admire and what’s inspiring, is that this kid is so willing to learn without ego getting in his way. He asks questions: 

“Show me how to take off the bridle again.” I point to the buckles and watch him struggle to get it right. 

He’s willing to admit when he doesn’t remember or know. It’s refreshing in the equestrian world, where often people think they know all the things and have very strong opinions. At times, when I feel like I know all the things, I need to be more like my son, willing to listen and ask. 

He’s also pleased to be in a supporting role rather than center stage when my daughters and I are riding. He’s guides his little sister on her pony while I ride alongside her in our fields. He walks along to prevent any grass-eating-antics and to encourage us. 

Though he doesn’t long for a swift gallop around the field himself, he’s involved, and he’s rooting for us. Even if I’m just hacking around in the grass on our young pony, he’s proud his momma rides and teaches his sisters. And his pride imbues me with my self-confidence. I may not be killing it in the show ring, but I’m killing it in the mom-of-ponies and cute kids department. 

This kiddo is far from perfect; he faces his own battles. He’s high energy. Though he’s developed strategies to combat his swirling brain, it’s often difficult for him to grapple with his innate impulsivity.

What’s fascinating is that when we’re down at the barn, he’s calm. His whole demeanor shifts. He takes a breath. When I once asked him what he likes most about horses he said thoughtfully, “I just like being around them, their vibe.” The barn elicits a different side of this boisterous boy. The horses ground him without the baggage that sometimes weighs me down.

He’s never been involved in horse-people drama, money drama, show-result drama or lameness drama. He’s not concerned about moving up a division or bombing during his next lesson. I love watching him enjoy the horses just because they’re horses.  Because they quiet his busy brain and his heart. And I frequently need his reminder to let the stressors go, so I can enjoy these magical creatures and find peace rather than turmoil in them. 

Reflecting on the blogs I write and my posts on social media, it’s easy to overlook my son. Because horses are my passion and focal point, in some respects he’s on the periphery. Rarely do I post a picture of him in his goalie uniform, swatting the ball out of the goal in beast mode. Also, so rarely do I take a minute to kick the soccer ball around with him; my spare time is usually sucked up by horsey things. But he never holds this against me. He still loves me. 

So here’s to my non-rider. The kid who reminds me why I do what I do and puts me in my place without trying. The kid who has his own dreams and passions but is willing to be a part of mine. And if he wants to get on a pony every six months, I’m down with that too.

Jamie Sindell has an MFA in creative writing from the University of Arizona and has ridden and owned hunters on and off throughout her life. She is a mom of five kids, ages 3 to 14. She and her family reside at Wish List Farm, where her horse-crazy girls play with their small pony, Cupcake, and her son and husband play with the tractor.