On the morning of November 6, several hours after it was announced that Donald Trump won the presidency, I went to the barn to see my horses.
While some people probably went to the barn to celebrate, I went so I didn’t pick a fight with my partner over nothing. I went to grieve.
I went to grieve a country I thought had, at the very least, started to outgrow its propensity to lean on greed and fear. I went to grieve a brighter future that I now find hard to believe in.
I have found comfort in horses my entire life. Deaths, big decisions, and depression have all been felt and dealt with partly by standing in shavings. There is solace in the clink of a stall door and the swish of a soft brush against a warm coat. Even if the world feels like it is exploding, the cue for a steed to change direction on the lunge line stays the same day after day.
Horses also need me to be quiet no matter how loud my brain screams, so I dig deep and find it. Or if I am smart, I leave if I can’t seem to settle.
Horses have taught me a lot about crappy moments like this one.
The first is that sometimes, no matter how hard you try or how many precautions you take, you can still botch that dressage test, have a nasty fall, or lose a horse to colic. Disappointment and disaster are a part of life. As the old Yorkshire farmers in All Creatures Great and Small said, “These things happen.” Coping with bad luck is a useful skill, even if it is one most of us would rather not have.
Despite this rather dark note, I have also learned to see joy in the small victories.
On November 6, Al, the gelding I have been trying to mellow out for months, worked happily and almost lazily—his trust in me blossoming.
Brandy, the Gypsy horse, has been struggling with her right lead at the canter due to an abscess in her hind foot. It cleared up a while ago, but the muscles still have yet to relearn the movement. On November 6, she picked it up on the first try, more than once.
As I led each horse back to the barn, I was still a bit tender from an injury myself, but I walked a little taller after seeing my hard work pay off. Oh the wonder of persistence, kindness and time.
I also went to the barn for the community.
The last time Donald Trump was president, I often felt alone in my dismay as the horse world, for better or worse, is often a conservative and traditional place. This time around, I have found solace in the horde of fellow equestrians who are just as upset as I am.
Some speak publicly about the impact of tariffs on the cost of goods we horse people rely on or what it now means to be a member of both the equine industry and the LGBTQ community. Others write about the threat to reproductive freedoms and what that could mean for an industry dominated by women. Then there are those who just post about rage.
Lastly, I go to the barn because it is common ground.
In an interview, author Zadie Smith talks about how common grounds are radical spaces and how if we want a better world, we need to find them. As the United States becomes more and more divided, places where we have to come together have become rare and sacred, places like the barn.
I keep my horses at a boarding barn, and the other boarders around me vary in all kinds of ways, including politically. Even if I lived alone in the woods somewhere, just Al, Brandy, and I, I would still have to find common ground with other horse people. I would still need a vet, someone to buy feed from, and friends to both celebrate with and help me when things go wrong.
Horses are social animals that depend on each other, and so are we.
This is a scary time, and just like everyone else, I don’t really have any answers. I will try to find them in good books, people who are not like me, and quiet moments of reflection at the barn.