11/13/2024
It's a curious thing, isn’t it? How we adapt, often unconsciously, to tension and restriction, making ourselves smaller in some way to fit within the borders our minds have drawn. During my teaching in Aikido, Chain Saw use, and Hormsnamenip I continued to see the effect of our subconscious as it related to balance movement. Like a horse dealing with an old injury or learning the uncertain language of a new rider, we, too, learn to carry ourselves in ways that feel safe but might not be free. And the body, loyal and stubborn as ever, follows suit. It adjusts, adapts, and compensates, gradually weaving these protective patterns into the very fabric of our movement, and more often than not putting us in an unsafe posture.
The trouble is, we don’t often notice the weight of these limitations. Much like a horse, our muscles, bones, and nerves learn to coexist with constraint until freedom feels foreign. But our nervous system, keenly attuned to survival, will sound the alarm with whispers of discomfort or even pain, gently insisting we pay attention.
Stepping onto the path of self-awareness, or seeking the guidance of an educated eye, can be the turning point. Just as a skilled horseman can spot the subtle hitch in a horse’s stride, an experienced observer can help us see what we may not feel and guide us to open, release, and reclaim the ease within. With gentle, deliberate practice, we might learn to untangle those knots of tension that restrict us and rediscover a quality of movement and presence that feels like home.
Reclaiming this freedom is less about achieving perfection and more about nurturing a genuine connection with our own body and mind—unburdened and open. It’s an ongoing practice of awareness and gentleness, of re-patterning what’s been tightly held. Like a horse stretching out after a long, tense ride, we too can come back to a state of ease, moving through life with the grace and resilience we were meant to embody.
The photo captures a moment, a snapshot where, yes, I’m smiling, but beneath that grin, I was a knot of tension. It was one of my first big public speaking events, and though I tried to steady myself, that unease seemed to pour into Annie. If you look closely, you can see it in her face and the tight lines of her neck, reflecting a tension she didn’t ask for but that we shared in that moment.
Looking back at photos and videos now, it’s like reading a different story. I see more than I saw then. The nervous energy that filled me that day, every subtle cue I wasn’t yet aware of, feels strikingly clear in hindsight. What I once brushed off as nerves has transformed into a lesson—one that shows me just how much horses pick up from us, even when we’re doing our best to mask it. Annie was my mirror that day, and now I can see how, despite my smile, my body was saying something else entirely.
