10/22/2025
"I'm probably never competing at indoors, and that's okay.
Like many elder millennials, I was raised to believe that the world was my oyster if I worked hard for the things I wanted. Though I’ve certainly had my share of burnout and a good ol’ fashioned mental breakdown now and then, that philosophy has gotten me a lot in life. It’s allowed me to grow from the 4H kid who did backyard schooling shows to pinning in AA shows in the Adult Amateur Hunters—something I’ve always wanted, but wasn’t sure would ever happen.
I will never discredit hard work when it comes to achievement. You simply can’t get anywhere without effort, but 30 years chasing dreams in this industry has taught me something else as well—hard work is only one element of the puzzle. Over time, I started to wonder what “success” in horses really meant for me.
When livestreaming horse shows became a thing, I loved tuning into the indoors coverage. Watching classes like the Ariat National Adult Medal Finals, I thought, “Maybe one day I could do that?” At the time, I was barely showing 2’6” with my OTTB. Getting magical things like lead changes or jumping 3’ at a horse show felt possible, but hard. But hey, dream big right?
Flash forward over a decade later, and I find myself at the Pennsylvania National Horse Show watching and working with The Plaid Horse. Standing by the hunter ring, I watch my peers go in for the classic. This is just the sort of big, impossible goal I always dreamed about. Something that I didn’t know if I had the capability to do.
I looked at the course. The jumps were beautiful, but they were simply hunter jumps—adorned beautifully with flowers and ferns, but there wasn’t anything magical about them. The course was the kind and familiar outside inside, outside inside we love to see in the AAs, complete with a two-stride. I watched flawless rounds. I watched rounds that had a whoopsie daisy moment. And in between, I realized something—my horse and I are very capable of doing this course. No, we wouldn’t win, but we wouldn’t look out of place either. Would I stand a very high probability of leaning for my change or doing a nervous jump up my horse’s neck? Yes, but I also stand an equal chance of getting decent distances and making it around fairly cleanly.
I could execute the course, but that doesn’t mean I ever will.
As a 40-year-old graduate student heading towards a career that I chose for happiness instead of wealth, I’m still figuring out what that looks like for me. I think it includes horse shows, and I think it includes the hunters. But walking shoulder to shoulder with the best in the industry, I realized that the elite is a level I don’t need to reach. what you think you should want.
For a long time, the image of my equestrian Quality World was being “part of their world.” I felt like an outsider, and I wanted to be in the “in” crowd. I wanted to keep raising the bar, keep going to fancier shows, and do everything I could to experience the best this sport has to offer.
I’ve been so fortunate to experience a lot and have many dreams come true. But the older I get, the more I realize that my equestrian Quality World cannot and will not look the same as riders in the upper tiers of our sport. I’m not exceptionally talented. I don’t have the ability, or truthfully the desire, to devote as much work as it would take to get my skills to a level that would lead to more opportunity and being competitive in the big leagues. And I don’t ever see myself having the financial means to pay my way in, either in miles, training, or horse.
This gives me two options. I can cry and say, “It’s so unfair! This sport is only for the rich!” or I can adjust the ideal view of my Quality World.
As a 40-year-old graduate student heading towards a career that I choose for happiness instead of wealth, I’m still figuring out what that looks like for me. I think it includes horse shows, and I think it includes the hunters. But walking shoulder to shoulder with the best in the industry, I realized that the elite is a level I don’t need to reach.
At the end of the day, nobody was having more fun at Harrisburg than I do at the A shows I attend in Katy, Texas, or even schooling shows closer to home. People celebrated their wins and slogged through disappointment—same as any other horse show. The elite can duke it out for the best in the country, and I can save my pennies and work hard enough to find eight jumps and get my lead changes on a smaller stage. Both co-exist. One isn’t better than the other.
Does our sport need to be more accessible? Yes. Do I think it’s crazy that I was told the average price of a horse in the AA hunter ring at Harrisburg is roughly $500,000? Yes. There are a lot of things we could improve about this industry.
But my place—really, my happiness—in this sport is in my control. I’ve never chatted with a rider or a professional at any of these exclusive shows and had them sneer when I say I ride my beloved beluga whale (aka Oldenburg) when I can at the regional level. Most of the folks at the top, especially the trainers who have worked decades to get there and sacrificed everything they could, remember what it’s like on different rungs on the ladder.
I truly believe most of us just love this crazy sport and these complicated animals. Participating, at any level, is the real prize.
📎 Save & share this article at https://www.theplaidhorse.com/2025/10/22/im-probably-never-competing-at-indoors-and-thats-okay/
📸 © Andrew Ryback Photography