Over the last decade, I have become what most people would call a confident rider. On the outside, there is a certain fluidity and ease. With Luna, I know the nuances of her moods; I can tell when she wants a leisurely graze and when she is a "rocket ship" ready to propel into the great unknown. With Alegria, the confidence is absolute. We have a history that allows us to gallop along the beach even as her four-month-old colt, Señor Sol, frolics beside us. In those moments, I am supported by my Vaquera saddle—a traditional style with what I call "seatbelts": high shoulders that hold my thighs in place and closed stirrups that protect my feet. It is a known world. It is a secure seat.

But a few months ago, I got a new saddle for Fortuna. It is a Tejana style. My old saddle was simply too heavy for me to lift onto a horse as tall as she is, and it didn’t fit her frame correctly. I thought the new saddle would be a simple solution to a logistical problem. I didn’t realize how much I had molded my very way of being—my posture, my balance, my sense of safety—to the "shoulders" of that old world.

For the past two decades, (has it really been that long?!) my work has focused on guiding individuals toward deeper meaning, purpose, and agency.

At the same time, my daily life at the ranch, working with horses (and riders), has revealed some of the most profound, practical truths about leadership, presence, and clear direction.

It has become increasingly clear that these two worlds, perhaps seemingly disparate, are actually deeply connected.