Flash

by Rachel Anne Ridge

Once in the clearing, they lowered their heads to graze, tails swishing and manes tossing. Young males, they exemplified equine perfection: a black horse with a white blaze down its nose; a chestnut with white socks and a long, dark mane and tail; and a paint with brown and white markings. My dish scrubbing immediately ceased as I leaned forward to take in the stunning beauty of these unexpected animals.

  As a child, I’d been so horse-crazy that I drove my parents nuts. Daily, I scoured the local newspaper in search of the perfect horse to put in our backyard. I was sure I’d find one that looked like Little Joe’s on Bonanza, a beautiful paint that would be mine, all mine. I had it all planned out: We would spend lazy afternoons together—me braiding his tail and brushing him until he gleamed, and him carrying me over the countryside in full gallop. I would be beautiful and courageous atop my steed named Apache (Patch for short).

  Unfortunately, as a preacher’s family, we lived in town, and later we moved to Mexico City as missionaries—so neither location was suitable for keeping equines. My fantasy of having a horse had faded into quiet wistfulness as I grew up, but seeing these animals suddenly appear reminded me of my latent desire. Too bad all we have is a dusty donkey.

  “Come take a look at this!” I called to Tom and Meghan, flinging suds as I motioned with wet hands. They hurried to the window for a peek at our latest four-legged guests.

  “Those are Russell’s horses.” Tom identified them at first glance with a low, appreciative whistle. “Aren’t they something!” He paused for a moment in admiration. “I’ve got his work number. I’ll give him a call to let him know they’re here. But first I’ll get them locked up in our pasture for safekeeping.”

  Infinitely easier than catching one smallish donkey, Tom handily coaxed the three horses into following his oat-filled bucket. Piece of cake. Meghan opened the gate as they arrived and quickly shut it behind them with a clang of the chain on the metal crossbar. Tom and Meghan returned to the house so Tom could notify the owner.

  “Russell can’t get here with his trailer until after work,” Tom said, holding a business card with the number scrawled on it. He set his cell phone down and continued. “Looks like Flash will get to have company for the rest of the afternoon.”

  “This could be interesting! I wonder how he’ll feel about sharing his space with these guys,” I responded. I slipped into flip-flops and headed to the gate to see what would happen.

  And what a sight to behold.

  The afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the pasture and created a storybook scene in which the stallions took center stage. Prancing and playing, they seemed to dance effortlessly across the field. It was a horse ballet!

  The sun glistened off their rippling muscles as they tossed their heads and galloped through the tall grass. Their shapely legs carried them around and around, while their manes and tails flowed out behind them in raw beauty. The strength and perfection of these creatures was a joy to watch. We rested our chests against the gate, elbows out and a foot on the lowest rung, and enjoyed the show.

  Just then, a movement from the corner of the pasture caught our attention.

  Flash.

  Arrested from the spot near his beloved cows by this sudden intrusion of the equines, he shook his long ears as if trying to wake himself up. Bending around like a contortionist to scratch his rear end with his teeth, he brought a back foot up and set it down with a thud. We watched him flex his lips as the new company’s arrival began to register in his brain. He blinked his black lashes until finally alert, then did a double take. Flash looked at the horses, and then back to the cows.

  Horses, cows. Horses. Cows.

  Hmmm.

  Yep, horses. Definitely horses.

  And without a backward glance, he ditched the cows for the newcomers.

  Just like that, the cows were dead to him. He trotted over to meet his new posse.

  Flash’s sparse mane bristled back and forth as his choppy gait carried him to the trio. He pulled up next to the shiny black leader and raised his giant head in greeting. The horse turned his graceful neck to see the short donkey arrive and gave a snort. Ha! As if motioning to his friends, he nodded toward the opposite end of the pasture, and the three were off in a cloud of dust and hooves—only this time they were followed by Flash, who looked hopelessly outgunned and outclassed.

  Next to the cows, Flash had seemed like a regal ruler of the landscape. His intelligent eyes and quick wit endeared him to the mindless, cud-chewing bovines who kept him company each afternoon. But now, with the arrival of the three ballerinos, Flash suddenly had some shortcomings, starting with his stature. Such stubby legs! And his head’s proportion was conspicuously out of whack. My word, so huge! And the ears—oh, the ears.

  But Flash did not care. He shifted into high gear and headed after the group, now circling at the far end of the pasture. Bucking and braying as he went, he joined up and fell into step with their show. They paused at his arrival, deciding whether or not to let this newcomer enter. Please? Flash seemed to say with his ears, all forward and hopeful. Someone whinnied in reply. One of them broke rank and allowed Flash in.

  And in that instant, he was one of them.

  The horses pranced.

  Flash pranced.

  The horses reared.

  Flash reared.

  The horses tossed their manes.

  Flash tossed—well, tried to toss—his mane.

  The horses glistened.

  Okay. Flash didn’t glisten. In fact, he magnetically collected all the kicked-up dust into his fuzzy gray coat.

  But no matter. Flash was having the time of his life. He wheeled and turned and danced and cavorted. He chased and nuzzled and pawed and reared. He was ridiculous in his earnestness, but he was part of the horse ballet—and his little heart beat faster with each plié and spin.

  Flash had burst into life, and every equine cell in his body was ablaze. The soul of a thoroughbred in the body of a shaggy donkey. What a picture; what a day. This was living, and I’d never seen him look so endearing. The setting sun outlined his form in golden fringe as his pace slowed to a graceful adagio around the three horses. Circling, spinning, moving. The cows looked on in disbelief. What had happened to their quiet, unassuming friend? They hardly recognized him with his new air of confidence and all.

  Evening fell like a gossamer curtain over the field, and Russell arrived with his dual truck and horse trailer to load up the gorgeous guests and take them home. With a slam of the trailer door and a roar of diesel, they were gone, and Flash stood at the gate with ears pricked and trembling. His nostrils flared, and his sides heaved as he stifled his bellows. He watched the trailer turn the corner and disappear down the driveway. Something had happened to him that day, and even he knew it.

  He was changed.

  He was bigger, stronger, and more powerful than before.

  He showed confidence.

  He held his head higher.

  He carried himself boldly.

  He’d become fearless.

  And all because he’d run with horses.

  It was as though he had suddenly realized his own greatness. As if someone had told him that donkeys and horses were nearly identical in genetic makeup. That they shared the same chromosomes—sixty-two of them, in fact. The only difference between donkeys and horses is an extra set of two chromosomes that horses carry. An extra set that Flash didn’t need in the least.

  I thought about Flash and his visitors long afterward.

  Maybe he’d been told all his life that he’d never amount to anything because he lacked the two units that would make him great. Maybe he spent all his time thinking about how his mane didn’t blow in the wind and how his gait was bumpy and how silly he’d look if he tried running. Maybe he’d always compared himself with horses and come up short every time. Maybe nobody ever told him that he has 97 percent of the same chromosomes as those horses . . . or that the horses needed two less to be just like him.

  Maybe nobody ever to
ld him that he has all the chromosomes he needs to be a perfect donkey.

  I wondered if, until now, Flash had been focused on the two he lacked, rather than on the sixty-two he had. I wondered if he’d told himself, as I had: If only I’d finished my college degree.

  I wondered if he’d said: I’m not talented enough to run with the big boys. My ears are too big, my head too heavy, my legs too short, my bray too loud.

  I wasn’t born into money. Or looks. Or special intelligence.

  I’m not graceful. I can’t prance. I don’t glisten.

  I don’t have business training. I’m too old. I drive an ancient Ford Explorer. I never took art lessons.

  Looking at his lack had kept Flash with the cows—those lackluster, mediocre characters who sat and wished for better grass and more gumption.

  Once again I found myself mirrored in this winsome donkey of mine. But this time, I saw what a change of perspective could do. Perhaps I needed to start focusing on my sixty-two, rather than the two. Aw, Flash. You’re a genius.

  Of course, it’s one thing to think something and quite another thing to actually do it. The project with Bridgette was officially underway, and it immediately tested my fledgling sense of empowerment.

  “Be there at 1:00,” Bridgette told me as we wrapped up another phone call about the interior design of the space. “We’ll be in the conference room, and I’ve given you thirty minutes on the agenda to make a presentation to the board and the contractors.”

  Oh dear. That would have been a good moment to tell Bridgette that I have a debilitating fear of speaking in conference rooms to boards and contractors. Also to groups of two or more. It’s this thing where my throat closes up and my mouth gets all dry and my vision goes blurry, just before I black out. I briefly imagined what it would be like to hit my head on the table as I was going down and then be laid up in a hospital with a skull injury for several weeks and only be able to eat Jell-O for every meal. The silver lining in that whole scenario was that I wouldn’t have to make my presentation, and also I might possibly lose five pounds and not have to wear faux SPANX to weddings.

  I wished I’d said all that, right then and there. But Bridgette was so persuasive and charming that for a moment I felt all confident, and I let myself get swept up in her energy. I danced, just a little bit, and it felt good. But maybe I should call her back and tell her I’d made a huge mistake and would not be able to make it to the meeting on account of my illness, or perhaps a broken leg. I could probably arrange an accident, or at least make a fake cast. I’m good at crafts. Anything to get out of this whole looming effeffeny catastrophe.

  No. I had to go through with this. And it was then that I decided, shakily, to run with horses. Enough with the cows. I wanted to try glistening for once.

  But it would take some work.

  I found a drafting table on a curbside for twenty-five dollars, and Tom cleared a spot for it in the loft that overlooks the back room. We moved an old computer, brought in some lamps, and put a chair in place. I bought a portable filing box and started making good use of Internet searches, starting with “FF&E”: Furniture, Fixtures, and Equipment.

  Aha! So that’s what it means! I’m in charge of procuring furniture, fixtures, and equipment! I spent an inordinate amount of time searching “How to Give a Winning Presentation” and “Fear of Public Speaking.” I made a trip to the department store for some appropriate business attire (30 percent off) and picked up a briefcase at the thrift shop. I asked for Photoshop help from our kids. I became familiar with architectural drawings. Hair highlights would have to wait—rats!

  But I was ready. And I got down to business. Tom and I both dug in and came up with ideas that stretched us, made us create new kinds of art, and caused us to see just how much we could do once we stopped focusing on why we couldn’t do it.

  And even though you could say we’d already taken our share of chances along the way (i.e., ditching regular jobs for a dreamy artistic one), we’d also let ourselves get comfortable in the types of projects we went for. The kinds of clients we thought we were good enough for. The jobs that didn’t require making presentations and proposals on design boards in conference rooms to important people. We’d gotten passive in our approach and forgotten the power of putting ourselves out there on a bigger stage. We played small. Safe.

  We’d counted the two chromosomes we lacked as more important than the sixty-two we had, and it had kept us in a place of mediocrity.

  Flash had us beat by a mile.

  You see, when someone opens a gate and gives you a shot at running with horses, the choice is yours. You can stay where you’re at—comfortable, unchallenged, and wishing your life away—or you can step forward and decide that this is your moment. You can dance on your stubby little legs and collect everyone else’s dust and maybe look foolish doing it. But you’re doing it! That’s the point. You find your thoroughbred heart in there somewhere, and you take the chance. You choose it. And you run with it.

  “As [a man] thinks in his heart, so is he,” says Proverbs 23:7 (NKJV). I wonder how many limits you’ve put on yourself by simply thinking incorrectly. By focusing on past failures, all the gifts and talents you think you don’t have, and the abilities you believe everyone else has, you keep yourself in a position of not being ready when opportunity comes knocking. You choose cows over horses because cows are safe and accepting and think you’re really awesome. It’s so sweet. But they keep you by the fence, watching life from the sidelines. Chewing cud, offering opinions, and giving commentary on the ones who are out there getting something done.

  You don’t ever do anything that makes your heart race or your palms get sweaty, or that involves the risk of hitting your head on the way down. You stay busy and work hard and never have to consider that you’re living in fear of being your best self.

  Running with horses, on the other hand, means that you have to face your fears. The fear of looking foolish, the fear of failing big, the fear of speaking in public, of learning new software, of going beyond your comfort zone into the unknown. Maybe even the fear of your own success. It means that you count your sixty-two as enough for the task and then set your heart on excellence—being the best you can be.

  Running with horses is risky. And I admired Flash for his plucky decision to up his game. It inspired me to risk blacking out during my presentation and to choose wide-legged trousers so no one would see my knees knock. Yes, my vision was a little blurry, and my mouth went dry, but somehow I survived my thirty minutes in that conference room. I didn’t remember anything about it afterward, and that’s beside the point. I may have even drooled a little bit. I can’t think about that.

  Here’s what matters. I came to see how one single fear, the fear of public speaking, kept me from moving forward in my professional and personal life. How many ways can a person avoid leading a group discussion or teaching a class or making a presentation? I’d come up with a hundred different ones throughout my life in order to give my fear, one set of two chromosomes, a bigger place than the sixty-two. And it kept me from doing my best work, because no one ever gets asked to present mediocre ideas.

  I decided to change all of that. I would no longer let fear be the reason to say no to something. If fear was the only thing that stood between me and a new opportunity, then the answer would have to be yes. (Jumping out of airplanes notwithstanding.) And I would use excellence as my weapon of choice to defeat the fear that wanted to paralyze me. Rather than focusing on the fear itself, I’d focus on doing—and being—excellent in my approach. I’d make the most of my sixty-two and run with those horses. Whatever happened next, well, I’d deal with it.

  Excellence—going the extra mile, learning all you can, doing things better than you thought you could—brings confidence that trumps fear. It opens up doors and creates opportunities that mediocrity and fear never can. And it works on every level—not just in business.

  What would happen if we stopped fearing having a dysfunctional
family and simply focused on having an excellent family life? If we stopped wishing we’d had decent role models and just became ones ourselves?

  Imagine if we quit worrying about losing weight and focused instead on being in excellent health. We’d choose foods and make lifestyle choices that would energize us so we could rock our worlds.

  What if, rather than bemoaning a lack of deep friendships in our lives, we worked at being excellent friends to others?

  Rather than letting ourselves be convinced that we aren’t smart enough for that job promotion or that degree, what if we focused on gaining the skills and knowledge to make it happen?

  Instead of sitting at the back of the room where we can’t be noticed, what if we found seats at the front and raised our hands to ask questions?

  Or rather than wishing we were born with artistic genes, what if we picked up a paintbrush or camera and found that creative skills can be learned? Maybe we’ll never be Picassos or Ansel Adamses, but it doesn’t matter. We can achieve far more by doing than by simply watching.

  Doing makes you try harder, reach further, and achieve more than you thought you could. Action propels you toward excellence and makes the impossible—possible.

  Yes, when you run with horses, you run the risk of stumbling and looking foolish. . . . But oh, what a way to go. There is greatness inside of you, looking for a chance to burst into life and kick up some dust. You will be stretched and challenged and pushed because the bar has been raised. You’ll have to reach deep to find what’s inside you.

  But you are up to it. Remember your sixty-two.

  The sixty-two that make you the perfect donkey.

  Just like Flash. Just like me.

  Run with horses.

  The pursuit of excellence conquers fear.

  Flash’s social life was looking up. Not long after his momentous dance with the elegant horses, some new people moved into the ranch behind us. A portion of their sprawling land abutted the north end of Flash’s pasture on one side, while the cows’ fence bordered the south end. This arrangement gave the ever-curious Flash a perfect vantage point to see what was going on around him.