Equestrians, and athletes generally, tend to be passionate people. We relentlessly pursue our goals over the course of months, years, or even decades. It is inevitable, therefore, that our progress will be impacted by change. We may even find ourselves sidelined permanently. Such setbacks have the potential to be devastating, but they don’t have to be. This post is about one of the actions we can take to prepare ourselves for change.
Master of Change author Brad Stulberg talks about “building another room.” He observes that when a person’s whole identity centers on a single pursuit ~ the Olympic medal, the coveted chairmanship, the only child, the Western States finish ~ loss of that identity is crushing. Retirement, failure, or injury leaves the hyper-focused individual with a shattered self, because his or her entire being lived in a single room that has now burned to the ground.
The solution, of course, is to build another room ~ ideally, multiple rooms. Put your eggs in more baskets. Broaden your identity to include aspects that will remain unharmed when another, major part of your structure goes up in smoke.
For example, a world-class athlete could take time to build community connections through volunteering during weekend breaks from training. He could pursue his lifelong interest in woodworking, or delve into Civil War history, or whatever.
It doesn’t matter what rooms we build, just that we do build them. That way, if our main room becomes uninhabitable, we have somewhere pleasant to go. Our identities may be damaged, but they are not devastated.
You may remember from this post that my yearly theme for 2023 was The Year of Elite. I hoped to break out of my years-long endurance riding funk by committing to living like an elite endurance rider (even though I’m not one). I applied the concept to fitness as well.
Alas, here we are at the close of October, and I only made it to two endurance rides. Despite my best efforts, my horse struggled with a sore back and then an injured tendon, and we spent yet another season on the sidelines. Not only that, but significant heel pain forced me to quit running for several months over the summer. My identities as both an endurance rider and a runner took hits.
This is where Stulberg’s advice to “build another room” came in.
For decades, I have dabbled in gardening. I’ve studied perennial flower gardening, in particular. I’m interested in garden design, soil building, pollinator support, plant propagation and, of course, beauty. Although I’ve absorbed considerable knowledge, I’ve never directed resources toward actually building an extensive perennial garden.
When Ledger’s tendon said we were definitely done for the season, that perennial garden was a new “room” waiting to happen. I spent the past two months transforming a half-acre of my scrubby, high desert non-lawn to a future oasis of trees, shrubs, ornamental grasses, and flowers.
The physical effort was extensive. I let it replace both running and lifting for several weeks, when double-digging and trundling heavy wheelbarrows from the compost pile, kneeling and scooping and cutting, filled from two to six hours of every given day. (Honorable mention to the horses, whose manure I’ve been actively composting for the past 18 months, and without which this could never have happened.)
A flush of flowers, bright against the fresh beds and tiny evergreens, was my reward.
Tonight, temps will drop into the mid-twenties. The beautiful blooms, those baby plants with all their promised glory, will blacken and crumple. Only the dark seedheads of coneflowers, the rusty blades of flame grass, a naked lilac branch, will remain to wave in the winter wind.
But under the soil, silent and unseen, they will continue taking root. Between rains, before spring, I will continue to nurture their invisible growth.
Athletes: Equestrians: You see the parallels here, do you not?
If we build enough rooms, one will be habitable while another is trashed. Our identities will continue to blossom in the sunshine, feeding the interconnected roots of chilled ambitions elsewhere. We will weather the seasons (yes, even the rare-but-severe permanent ones) from a place of peace.
What are your rooms?
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I love this concept; thanks for giving words to this and sharing. This feels natural, just as the earth is diverse in ways that are obvious and unseen, which makes it that much more vibrant, we can be and should be an extension of that for our own wellbeing!
Raina, you said that so beautifully!!