When Plans (and Horses) Bolt: Lessons from a Misadventure
The Pony Plan That Became a Rodeo
Growing up on a ranch in Montana, I learned early that you can’t exactly control nature. You might think you can—wrangle it, train it, tame it—but that’s just hubris wrapped in a cowboy hat. I learned this the hard way during what I refer to as “The Great Horseback Date Incident.” This was supposed to be my moment—a gallant horseback ride with a new romantic interest through the rolling, wildflower-speckled foothills. A little Clint Eastwood charm, a little notebook romance. What could go wrong? Turns out, plenty.
Let me paint the scene: A late spring day, brisk but sunny, the mountains sharp against an impossibly blue sky. My date, let's call him Peter, was eager to meet this "horse whisperer" I kept joking about. He was a fly-fishing guide (of course) I’d met at a coffee shop in town—a man whose confidence was exceeded only by his ability to wear Carhartts as if they were a uniform. Cameras, I knew, wouldn’t do justice to his dimples.
The plan? A casual ride on my family’s gentlest horse, Daisy, with me leading on a seasoned gelding named Shadow. Casual for me, of course, who’d logged hundreds of hours in a saddle. Peter, though an outdoorsy sort, wasn’t quite as ranch-savvy—but I wasn’t worried. Shadow and Daisy were pros. Solid citizens. Horses you’d trust with a child or a grandmother.
And it all went fine. For 15 minutes.
Stampeding Toward Disaster
About a quarter-mile into our ridiculous Hallmark-movie reenactment, the wind picked up, Daisy snorted, and Shadow pricked his ears. That familiar electric buzz of “something’s about to go down” vibrated through the air. But before I could issue some cowboy wisdom, like “Get ready”—a jackrabbit bolted out from the underbrush. Now, I’d seen this exact scenario play out dozens of times… just not in the middle of a date.
The misfortune was this: Daisy, my ever-reliable rock of equine stability, uncharacteristically bolted. And by “uncharacteristically,” I mean she took off with the kind of speed reserved for barrel racing championships. Peter, bless him, let out a “Whoa!” but Daisy was having none of it. I don’t know what spooked her more—the rabbit or Peter’s yelp.
Shadow, not wanting to be left out, launched into pursuit with me clinging to the saddle like a lone sock in a tumble dryer. This was not the picturesque mountain ride I had envisioned. Instead, I was screaming advice over the pounding of hooves: “Hold tight!” and “Lean forward!”—advice that, in hindsight, was about as helpful as yelling “Run!” in a zombie apocalypse.
Learning When to Let Go
Eventually, we caught up to Daisy, who stopped in the middle of a wildflower patch because… well, who knows why. Horses are weird like that. Peter, wide-eyed and definitely no longer charmed, dismounted and promptly lay facedown in the grass, arms outstretched in exaggerated relief. I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t already apologizing profusely while also checking Daisy's bridle and mentally cataloging the depth of embarrassment etched into my soul.
We made it back to the barn in one piece, thanks to Shadow, who had apparently decided he’d done enough cardio for the day. Peter, reluctantly, said he still loved the “adventure”—though his expression suggested Daisy might haunt his dreams forever.
What did I learn? Remember the golden rule of plans: disasters don’t wait for invitations. In dating, in life, in attempts to impress someone by embodying a modern-day horse girl version of Katharine Hepburn, things can and will go sideways.
But here’s the thing: the real test isn’t whether the plan goes well. It’s what you do when it doesn’t.
Five Lessons from My Misadventure
So what, besides sore muscles and a story to laugh about later, did “The Great Horseback Incident” teach me? Here are the takeaways:
-
Authenticity Beats Perfection Every Time
The pre-bolt version of me was trying to impress Peter with control and competence—qualities I thought would make me memorable. But in relationships, it’s the messy, scrappy, laugh-at-yourself moments that stick. Peter didn’t remember me as the girl who had everything figured out; he remembered me for how I handled Daisy’s mid-date crisis. (With equal parts panic and humor, for the record.) -
You’re Not in Control (and That’s Okay)
Trying to curate a flawless outcome—whether it’s a date, a conversation, or a relationship—is just asking to end up face-first in the dirt. Instead, focus on being present for whatever does happen. Life’s best moments aren’t scheduled. -
Laugh When It’s Over (or Better Yet, During)
Nothing improves a misadventure faster than humor. Sure, Daisy’s theatrical dash wasn’t funny in the moment—it was terror wrapped in horse-shaped chaos—but Peter’s sarcastic description of himself as “Montana’s newest rodeo star” cracked me up. Shared laughter has a sneaky way of cementing connections. -
Pay Attention to Who’s in Your Saddle
When plans go haywire, you want someone who doesn’t bail. Did Peter look terrified? Absolutely. But he stayed on Daisy until she decided she was done, even though it went against every instinct. There’s something poetic about that—and honestly, pretty swoon-worthy. (Spoiler: we lasted awhile after this.) -
Let Go of the Narrative in Your Head
I was clinging to this romantic “storybook horse ride” fantasy I’d created, which only made the chaos feel worse. Sometimes, the story you didn’t plan is better anyway—if for no other reason than it gives you something to laugh about at parties.
Ride Into the Sunset (Even if It’s a Messy One)
Relationships, like horseback dates, work best when you embrace the unpredictability. Sure, we all want that cinematic love story where everything glows golden, but life’s great connections are made in the glitches. Mistaken directions, runaway animals, spilled coffee… these are the cracks where intimacy sneaks in.
So, if your misadventure starts galloping away from you, take a breath. Hold your metaphorical reins. Laugh, adjust, and let it be messy and human. Odds are, the person riding alongside you will appreciate the view, even if it’s not what either of you imagined.
And hey, at the very least, you’ll get a good story out of it. Or a date who can survive a sprinting, wild-eyed mare—priceless.
