No Comfort Zone

Almost $300 at Aldi. Fuck inflation. That was Friday night’s slap in the face before the weekend even started.

By Saturday morning, one student had a medical emergency, so my first lesson was canceled. Silver lining, I caught a breath. Dan hauled the girls off to help my uncle move oats, and I got the arena ready. The girls who did show up? On fire. They’re finding gears they didn’t even know they had.

Then the jackpot. You know how that goes—long waits, freezing nights, big fish in a small pond. One student fought through bad poles in practice, swapped horses, and laid down a clean run that should’ve counted… but her horse ran through the timer. No time on the sheet, but I’ll take that clean ride any day. Loretta’s horse? Zero brakes. Fence kisses, trailer parking lot detours, and Loretta hanging on for dear life. Bonnie? Steady as ever. Another student brought home a 1st in the 3D. Wins. Losses. Lessons.

That’s the thing—you don’t grow in your own arena. You’ve got to haul out, feel the dirt you don’t know, run under lights you don’t trust, and get knocked out of your comfort zone. That’s where the real work starts. Practice isn’t free. But neither is progress.

Sunday switched gears. Local farm auction. We scored garage windows for the viewing room, door panels for insulation, steel shelves, a fan, and two pressure washers. All for less than the price of a tank of gas. That barn remodel is finally moving again, and it feels damn good.

The girls split up—Bonnie and Kelly with Grandma at Homer Lake, Loretta vegging with Grandpa. Dan and I came home, made chicken taco bowls, and I ended the night talking with Kelly about her dream of running a mobile coffee trailer. Eleven years old and already thinking like a businesswoman. That’s the kind of grind I want for her.

I capped the night with horse supplements and hit the pillow at 11:30, only to be up at 5:45. Somewhere in between all that, I worked a horse with cryo. Two sessions in, and the difference is already obvious. Tonight I’ll head back—if I can squeeze in an AirGas stop because I’m flat out empty.

Busy? Yeah. Chaotic? Always. Worth it? Every damn time.