Dirt Makeup

By the end of every lesson, I look like I’ve been dipped in dust and dragged through the arena. Sweat lines streak my face. My shirt carries horsehair, slobber, and sand. My hair is coated in what I call “dirt makeup”—that layer of arena grit that sticks no matter how many times you wipe your face.

It’s a love-hate thing. I hate how it clings, how it sneaks into every pore, how I sometimes catch my reflection and think I look worn out instead of glowing. But I love what it means. Dirt makeup is proof that I showed up. Proof that horses moved. That students learned. That another ride was put in the books.

It’s not Sephora. It’s not perfect. But it’s earned. And it washes off a lot easier than regret ever will.

So here’s to dirt makeup. The kind you wear with pride when the work is done and the horses are happy.