The Uncomfortable Joy of Growing

It took me a while to recognize it, but learning new things and questioning what I know has always been a core part of who I am. I don’t think I would’ve described myself as a lifelong learner when I was younger, but now it's pretty obvious. Falling down late-night rabbit holes about hoof angles...or nutrition—is not what the average person thinks of as a good time.

I can thank my parents for planting those seeds. They never rushed into decisions. Whether it was buying a car or choosing a program, they’d take their time—do the research, weigh the options, talk it through. That habit of digging in and asking questions rubbed off on me in a big way. It became second nature, whether I was switching jobs, choosing a school, or deciding what brand of laundry detergent to buy.

Horse ownership only encouraged these habits even more. It became the topic with endless opportunities to learn.

What saddle is best? What hay should I feed? What causes a club foot? I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve gone looking for one quick answer and ended up with a dozen tabs open and two hours gone.

But here’s the trick about being a lifelong learner... it means I have to un-learn what I thought I knew before. And that part? That’s where it gets uncomfortable.

Learning new things often feels like standing in unfamiliar footing—literally and figuratively. Like a young horse learning to carry a rider for the first time, it’s awkward, uncertain, and not always graceful. You feel exposed. You wobble. You make mistakes. And just like the early stages of training, it takes patience, repetition, and a whole lot of grace—both for yourself and from others.

Unfortunately, grace isn’t always easy to come by in this industry. Equestrian culture, much like many other performance-driven spaces, can be a tough place to show vulnerability. There’s this unspoken pressure to know everything, to do everything right the first time, to be confident and competent at all times. But that kind of mindset doesn’t leave much room for growth. It’s hard to admit when something you believed or practiced no longer holds up under closer inspection.

But playing it safe isn't enough. A horse can live a perfectly content life grazing in a pasture, never asked to do more than exist—and there’s peace in that. But when a horse accepts the challenge of learning, of developing a skill, something beautiful happens.

They find rhythm and balance. They build strength and curiosity. They discover how to connect, how to move with purpose, how to be a partner. A happy horse isn’t just one that’s left alone—it’s one that’s engaged. One that feels safe enough to try, to move, to trust.

And people? We’re not so different.

Learning is power. Curiosity is what keeps us mentally agile and emotionally available. Without it, we grow rigid. We become stuck in old patterns and outdated ideas. Not being open to learning doesn’t just hold us back—it wears us down.

When I taught at Post University, I encouraged my students to become critical thinkers. I didn’t want them to just collect information—I wanted them to question it. Who wrote this? What’s their perspective? What’s missing here? What’s being implied but not said? Learning, to me, isn’t just absorbing and repeating facts. It’s knowing how to sort through them, to find your footing in a sea of opinions and possibilities. Kind of like how a good rider doesn’t just memorize a course—they learn how to read the challenge, to organize a plan, and to adjust in the moment.

This year, I’ve been stretching into new territory—new ideas, new philosophies, new perspectives. And let me tell you, it hasn’t always been smooth. It has felt like a green horse walking into a new arena—wide-eyed, unsure, sensitive to every noise.

I’ve had to revisit old choices, reflect on things I used to believe, and confront mistakes I made when I didn’t know any better.

It’s not easy. I catch myself judging the “old me,” even though I know she was just trying her best with the tools she had at the time.

But growth isn’t about shame—it’s about movement.

And despite all the discomfort, it’s also deeply rewarding.

Like a horse learning to love the task once it becomes familiar, I’m starting to find joy in the challenge.

I don’t expect to ever know it all. In fact, I hope I never do. I want to stay curious. I want to keep asking questions and chasing new ideas—even if it means wobbling now and then. Because being a lifelong learner doesn’t mean always having the answers. It means you’re always willing to keep searching for them.

Turns out, the real joy isn’t in knowing—it’s in finding my stride as I climb. The path isn't always smooth, but the view keeps getting better.