Stamina
I’ve been working on stamina with my horse, Buzz. Like most Quarter Horses, he’s built for explosive speed over short distances, followed by a distilled, lengthy sense of easy-going-ness. He might walk, he might jog, but all of it feels very relaxed, like every day is Sunday (until a cow or a mare in heat comes into view, that is.)
So we’ve been working on it. If I ask him to trot, under saddle or on the lunge line, it’s a sign of disrespect if he quits before I tell him to. He needs to move his body in response to my commands, not his own whims, and in return, I promise to take into account his strengths and only push as much as he can handle, bit by bit. As I insist on more and more trotting, however, he gets better at it; his endurance is increasing, he is enjoying longer jogs and he is settling into the pace, rather than fighting me for more speed or trying to stop all the time.
I’ve been writing, nearly every day, since 2005. I’ve been chasing publishing, in some seasons with more ardor than others, all that time. Stamina is learned, it is honed, it is gained over miles of open country, it is made responsive in the circle of a lunge-line. Like Buzz, I enjoy the journey of the long trot, I have learned about myself through it and I have gotten much better at the craft. But also like Buzz, I get antsy. I want to buck sometimes, or turn and bolt, or arch my neck and demand my will be obeyed.
I think I have believed the lie that my authority is absolute. If I fail, it’s my own fault, if my pieces get rejected, it’s because they are objectively bad. But I am the alpha in the relationship with my horse, but we better not get into a kicking match, because he would win. He can outrun me, he can out-muscle me, I can’t force him to do anything, really. What I have to do is outsmart him, coax him into a partnership where we both get what we want – he gets a confident leader and I get an obedient horse. Friendship comes after, after we’ve gone a few rounds and can agree on who’s boss.
In my relationship with creativity, I’m the alpha, but it too can beat me if I’m not careful, if I don’t keep my eyes up and my pockets firmly stuck to my saddle. But if I could briefly whine, I’m tired of stamina, of being alert. I’m tired of quietly creating work that gets just as quietly rejected a few months later. I’m tired of the insipidly polite it’s-not-you-it’s-us letters from literary magazines and writing contests. I’m especially tired of confiding my exhaustion to others and hearing the refrain, “perhaps it’s enough to write for yourself and not seek publication.” As I told my husband recently, that particular piece of non-encouragement makes me want to burn everything I’ve ever written in a pyre and throw myself on it. It’s a cop-out, a way to not deal with the sadness of unrealized dreams, to grasp at a cheap tinsel lining to what we won’t admit is a thundercloud.
But just as I could not will my husband to love me or my children into being, I cannot force my creative dreams to come true; but I can hone my endurance for them. As irritating as building stamina might be, I see the trim topline of my fit and happy horse and remember that he could not always lope uphill or trot for an hour without stopping. Endurance is boring – it’s easy to ask for a little trot in the round pen and give up when the horse does – we both get a pat on the back and cheap encouragement, instead of the earned contentment of breaking through limitations. It’s natural to do so, we all relent too soon now and then. I but I want to relent, well, less, if you’ll excuse the pun. I can’t force a perfect sunset or a cloudless view when the mountaintop is reached, I don’t have the authority to make rocky trails smooth. But I can give myself permission to sniffle a little and then tack back up in preparation for the summit. No one can give me endurance like my own muscles, and stamina seems to me a great power, for horse and human.