Yesterday, I was sitting on the mounting block in the middle of the arena deciding whether or not I would ride.
Truth be told, I was feeling kinda ick. My nerves were frayed around the edges- not from anything sinister, just too many late nights working which caught up with me that morning.
I had worked Dee in hand and on the ground and was musing whether or not to call it a day. The decision wasn’t stemming from any “can’t be bothered-ness” or “I don’t want to-ness” but genuine consideration about whether my headspace was such that I could bring my best self to the saddle.
Out of the blue, a voice popped into my head: What’s the best that can happen?
‘The best that can happen?’ I replied to myself, grinning slightly. ‘Don’t people usually ask what’s the worst that can happen?’
The thing was, a couple of weeks ago I’d felt a similar wave of bleurgh. Motivated by a clinic coming up that following weekend, I’d hauled ass out to the arena and jumped on for what turned out to be one of my best rides to date.
That ride now safely nestled in the success files of my brain, when the chips were down this day, it was there to remind me.
Not, what if everything goes wrong, but what if this is your sliding doors moment to your best ride to date?
And that, wonderful peoples, is what showing up does.
When you least expect it, it begins to ask, what’s the best that can happen?
And then you pull your hat on and ride.