Before the Aid: The Horsemanship of Observation

Observation — A Neglected Virtue

Whenever I enter the arena for a scheduled lesson, even if I or the student has a general idea of what we want to work on, I try to begin with a clean canvas. I pause, observe the present situation, and determine what is actually needed before chasing a lofty goal. The same rule applies to riding my own horses and even to how I approach my day.

We all want progress. We want to reach the next level, improve a movement, or fix a problem. But sometimes ambition distracts us from seeing what is truly in front of us. When we stop observing, we often fall into a cycle of frustration and repetitive disappointments.

When we hit a wall of stagnation, the ego usually tells us to try harder. Rarely does it tell us to step back. Yet the limiting factor to progress is often not effort — it is awareness. In today’s fast-moving world, it is increasingly difficult to take a true “half-halt” on ourselves before acting. Many riders don’t realize they are caught in a cycle of tension simply because they are trapped in expectation rather than presence.

“The horse does not respond to our plans - it responds to our awareness.”

Real progress begins with being present and noticing the small details that make up the moment we are in. The more a movement is broken into simple components, the more attainable it becomes. Attainable results build consistency, and consistency builds confidence.

Mastery is not producing the same result every day. Horses do not allow that illusion. There will always be variables, and as long as we try to control the outcome instead of understanding the process, the exercise will break down in new ways. If there is one thing I truly wish to master, it is the ability to remain present and not allow my ego to outrun my awareness.

Riding is unique because multiple conversations are happening at once. We want our horse’s attention, yet we are sitting on a prey animal whose instincts are to observe, question, and stay safe within its environment and herd. At the same time, the horse must interpret the omnivore sitting on its back and decide whether to trust its guidance.

We, too, bring instincts into the ride. Our logical brain wants control, and we often make assumptions based on past experiences. When things go well, we string together “aha” moments and believe we have solved the puzzle. But when something unexpected happens, our nervous system quickly shifts into fight, flight, or freeze.

Our brains are both a gift and a challenge. Reason and memory are powerful tools, but they should never replace listening. Control of the outcome is what we think we want — yet that is often just the ego speaking. Before directing the horse, we must first learn to stand still and observe.

The Practice of Observation

1. Observe yourself.

Where are you mentally and emotionally? Are you present, or already riding the future? Can you clearly describe what you are asking and why you are asking it?

2. Observe your horse.

Is your horse relaxed or anxious? Are they moving freely or protecting their body? Horses think in terms of safety and balance. Notice how they transition between gaits and whether they feel secure in both their body and environment.

3. Observe the dialogue.

Is your horse accepting your presence or bracing against it? Are your aids organized and understandable, or are they noise? Is your horse curious, tolerant, or searching for escape? Leadership becomes clear when expectations are understandable and the horse gains confidence in your consistency.

4. Observe the environment.

Partnership is tested by things outside our control. The environment constantly changes — sounds, movement, wind, other horses. Through quiet leadership you can help your horse process what they see, hear, and feel. When the horse believes you notice what they notice, the world becomes less threatening.

Closing

Good horsemanship is less about making something happen and more about learning to see what already is. The horse lives entirely in the present moment, and every ride is an invitation for us to meet them there. When we slow down enough to truly observe — ourselves, our horse, and our surroundings — tension gives way to understanding, and understanding gives way to trust.

In many ways, observation becomes a form of humility. We stop forcing answers and begin listening for them. The horse does not respond to our plans; it responds to our awareness. And often, in the quiet space created by simply paying attention, we discover that progress was never something to chase, but something revealed.

Sometimes the best thing we can do for our horse, and perhaps for ourselves, is not to act first — but to notice first.