Never Make Them Wrong

I had the opportunity to ride with my oldest son in his first horsemanship clinic with Carol Coppinger last weekend.  It was not only my son’s first clinic, it was his first time taking his horse off the farm and riding in a situation where there were a lot of other horses and riders.  We talked on the way down about expectations and about working with the horse that shows up each day. Despite those conversations I know he had his heart set on showing everyone the fruits of his hard work over the last several years.  And, like most of us, we like to shine and have others see our competence.

When the first morning of the clinic came, my son’s horse was far from settled and my son was faced with a challenge unlike any that he had ever faced before.  In addition to dealing with a horse high on adrenaline, he was also coping with his own frustration, disappointments and concerns as to how others might view him.  I suspect that we have all faced similar challenges in our lives, or we have at least witnessed someone else as the faced their own challenge.  Maybe it was at a clinic or perhaps at a competition that we had been working toward for months.

Many of us (and I include myself in this) feel inclined to be critical of ourselves and start to beat ourselves up when faced with such adversity or when things don’t go as we planned.  Some may turn that frustration outward and get angry with their horse, or the judges, or the clinician.  Whatever our instinctive reaction, these moments of great challenge are clearly choice points in our lives.  How we choose to treat ourselves and others, or how others treat us in the process, can have a profound impact on the potential outcome.  Do we end up in defeat or triumph,  anger or joy, despair or hope and inspiration

I had the opportunity over the next two days to watch how Carol helped my son help his horse.  She provided him with patient guidance, set firm but kind limits, showed him how to use his horsemanship tools and skills effectively as he worked with his horse.  She let him work on his own and struggle appropriately.  She provided direct assistance when necessary to help him from being overwhelmed by the challenge.  She challenged him further when he had made several positive steps forward and gave him an opportunity to shine.  The choices Carol made as a mentor, whether deliberate or instinctive, transformed a difficult situation into a profound learning experience for my son.  How easily the situation could have ended up differently.

As a father I was incredibly proud of my son, not so much for what he accomplished, as for his courage, persistence, and maturity in the face of adversity.  OK… I was also proud of what he accomplished in those two short days.  It also got me thinking about the lessons I learned from what I had witnessed and how they apply to my work with riders as well as to all of our relationships with horses.  In a conversation during the clinic, Carol was talking about her journey with her own horse, Legend.  In the midst of the story I remember her making a point to say, “and I never made him wrong.” Powerful words.

Can you imagine a life with your horse where you faced each challenge with the presence of mind to support and guide your equine partner in ways that helped them make good decisions without “making them wrong”?  Can you imagine a world where teachers and mentors provided the same patient guidance and encouragement to their riding students without “making them wrong”?  And, perhaps most importantly, can you imagine a world in which you could acknowledge your own challenges and perceived short-comings without self-criticism, shame and “making yourself wrong”?

To be sure, things don’t always go the way we want with our horses.  Understanding and accepting the challenges we face is very important.  Setting firm and appropriate limits? Absolutely. But, how far do we really get when we choose to point out the failings of others, our horses, or ourselves and “make them wrong”.  It has consistently been my experience that change and growth are the result of choosing to seek out positive solutions and never seem to result from making others wrong.

Breakfast of Champions

I remember an advertising campaign when I was growing up that focused on spreading the message that we needed to feed our children a nutritious breakfast before sending them off to school.  The basic idea was that hungry children weren’t as available for learning as children who were well fed.  This certainly made  a lot of sense then and still makes sense today.  We could invest in our schools, hire the best teachers, implement the finest curricula but without students that were mentally, emotionally and physically ready to learn it would all be for naught.

The same is true for equestrians.  We can have the finest facilities, the best instructors and trainers, highly trained experienced athletic horses (and the most talented of sport psychology consultants of course) but unless you are mentally, emotionally, and physically ready to make use of all these resources you are not likely to make significant strides.

Last Tuesday at the Five Pillars of Success Seminar we took a closer look at a metaphorical “Breakfast of Champions”.  We talked about the essential elements in preparing ourselves for participation in equestrian sport.  We talked about motivation, goals, resources, risk assessment, and the fundamental importance of relationships.  More than talking about how each of these foundational aspects were important in our equestrian lives, we talked about how they need to be balanced with each other.  We explored how motivations and goals need to be suitable for one another, how our resources needed to be sufficient and appropriate if we were to realistically reach our goals, and how our assessment of risk changes over our lifetime as well as how failing to take these changes into account undermines our efforts.

New this year was the focus on relationships.  We reflected on the importance and power of relationships. We talked about how relationships are essential in providing us with the fundamental confidence and security we need to learn, explore and challenge ourselves.  We also had an opportunity to grow in our understanding of what we bring to our relationships in our riding lives; who we are as partners to our horse, as students to our teachers, as teachers to our students, as members of our family, and as friends to our peers.  Self-awareness is a powerful tool in getting us truly prepared to learn and progress in our riding.

As I drove home that night I was reflecting on the evening and I was transported back to my childhood complete with visions of Bruce Jenner on the Wheaties box and the nutritious breakfast ad campaign.  All dated references aside, I left that seminar more convinced than ever of the importance of a sound psychological foundation, not only for our riding, but for our continued personal growth.  In order for us to make use of the wide arrange of skills and knowledge that sport psychology has to offer, and to be open and available to the lessons that our mentors have to teach us, we must first take the responsibility to “eat a nutritious breakfast” so that we are mentally, emotionally, and physically available to learn and to grow.  I will certainly be trying to do that for myself.

Looking forward to seeing everyone next month at the New Power of Positive Thinking seminar.

When You Need New Glasses…

Sometimes you need new lenses and sometimes you just need new frames.

I have always been seduced by the idea that if I can just analyze a problem sufficiently, I will be able to solve it.  I am a problem solver by nature and was raised in a family where knowledge and understanding were highly valued.  Especially, if that knowledge and understanding came from a careful, methodical and thorough analysis.  I have thought about this as the”lens” through which I look at a problem.  If I could just bring the problem into focus then I felt that I had a good shot at solving it.

One of my earliest challenges as a psychologist was my impatience in the process of change.  I worked diligently with my clients to help them explore their lives.  I helped them understand behavioral and emotional patterns, their temperament, their neurology and physiology, their relationships, and how their life of learning led them to where they are at the present moment.  And yet, more often than not, this highly focused and clear understanding of their problems did not spontaneously lead to change. Frustrating, right?

Over time I began to notice that the clients that did make changes were the one’s that, after understanding their problem, naturally shifted their focus to solutions.  In that way, they knew where they were going.  They had analyzed the problems in their life and, using that analysis as a basis, they had identified one or more solutions.  In essence, they had shifted their focus and attention from what I call a “problem frame” to a “solution frame”.  This may seem like an obvious and simple idea, but it is so often lost both in life and in learning.

Take a moment the next time you ride to listen to the voice inside your head.  How often do you identify a problem in your riding?  How often do you search for a cause?  And, how often when you identify a cause, do you admonish yourself to stop doing the offending behavior? Many riders are very critical of themselves.  They constantly tell themselves “don’t do this” or “don’t do that.”  The problem with this approach is simply that no amount of telling ourselves what not to do will help us do the right thing.

If your an instructor or coach, pay attention to the language that you use when working with your clients.  Notice how often you are critical or point out something your client is doing wrong.  If you find yourself doing this on occasion, try an experiment.  The next time your teaching a lesson and notice a behavior that you would like your client to change, take the time to enter a into “problem frame” with your student.  Clearly and thoroughly describe your client’s riding behavior and why it fails to bring about the desired results.  Then consciously and deliberately shift the focus from problems to solutions and enter into a “solution frame.” Talk with them clearly and specifically about what they need to do in order to progress. Finally, when you see the undesired behavior again, help your client stay in a “solution frame” by reminding them about what they need to do rather than pointing out their mistake.

There is no doubt that seeing things clearly is of great value in our equestrian lives, and that looking at our experience through the correct lens will help us greatly in our quest to accomplish our riding goals.  It is equally important to remember that no amount of focus or clarity will serve to help us overcome the challenges in our equestrian journey, if we are seeing things clearly through an unhelpful frame.

Enduring Qualities of an Excellent Coach (and Student)

A recent article in the Chronicle of the Horse about the nature of coaching really struck home and resonated with my experience working with riders and instructors over the years (It’s Not All About You, Coach).  It also has provided me with my new favorite quote about coaching .

William Micklem on coaching: “Let’s not kid ourselves, despite what we see in sports films and hear in the bar, it’s almost impossible to find any research that shows consistent negativity, or a regular pattern of insults, is beneficial to learning and performance in any sport.”

One thing I reflected on is that Mr. Micklem’s wisdom  seems equally important for both coaches and students.  Many coaches (from many sport activities) might benefit from the wisdom of Micklem’s words, challenging their athletes while grounding their guidance in the respect and dignity of both rider and horse.   Students (and their parents) can benefit from his wisdom as well.

Their are also two important lessons that students can take away from this article.  The easiest one to recognize is that no student needs to subject themselves to being demeaned or humiliated in the process of learning.  All to often I have found myself faced with a rider whose confidence is shaken, not by what they have experienced on the back of their horse, but by the treatment they received at the hands of an instructor who was just “teaching the way they were taught”.  An excellent coach is demanding to be sure, but they are also skilled at assessing where you are in your riding and knowledgeable about how to guide you to the next level.  All with dignity and respect.  These are things we can expect from those we hire to teach and guide us.  And, when we feel that we aren’t getting this it is important to advocate for ourselves and take the step to discuss this with our coaches, making changes when necessary.

The other important lesson for students is a lot less obvious but equally important to remember and live.  It’s not all about you, student.  In a manner parallel to the responsibilities and values of an excellent coach we have our own responsibility, to aspire to the values of an excellent student.  Each of us have our own responsibilities in the learning process.  I would suggest that the core values are not all that different than those to which we would like are coaches to aspire.  Ground our behavior as students in respect and dignity of both our coach and our horses.  How many times do students expect their coach’s respect when they themselves do not show up for lessons on time, practice skills between lessons, prepare their horse properly, or in today’s “connected” world give priority to texts, emails and phone calls in the middle of a lesson.

Mr. Micklem is right.  Respect is a win-win situation.  But respect is a two-way or, perhaps with our horses, a three-way street.

Whistle

Today’s post comes from a friend whose essay carries many  important lessons for all of us.  Thanks Dr. Lyman.

In our culture of immediate success, some accomplishments are only available to those of us with perseverance. The development of certain rarefied, lifelong skills takes time and dedication, but once learned, they will sustain us always; they will stay constant in a world of change. As I am sure you realize by now, I am referring to the fine and frustrating art of whistling.

My personal quest began simply enough. Flipping through my Mouthsounds book one evening several weeks ago, I ran across the Taxi Whistle. Several years before, I had mastered the Fingered Taxi Whistle by practicing repeatedly as I walked through campus. It was a difficult but rewarding challenge, resulting in an ability to emit a powerful and deafening screech upon command. But as I basked in the glow of my accomplishment, I realized I had never mastered its variant, the Fingerless Taxi Whistle.

The path  was elusive. Originally, I thought the instructions and illustrations in the book would be sufficient, but after several lightheaded days of hissing myself across campus and hyperventilating in my car,  I realized I would have to expand my research. I went to YouTube, where  I found a half-dozen earnest videos —  all created by men and often involving alarming close-ups — on the Fingerless Taxi Whistle.  One series, created a man about my age, detailed an impressive menu of variants. Another, featuring a boy of about eleven, showed impeccable form but, frankly, bordered on the smug. My favorite was made two years ago by a British adolescent who put the webcam  in his mouth and peppered his instructions with suggestions such as, “When you float the tongue, be sure you seal it against the tight upper lip. That’s really important.” His video has 21,000 hits, and he is still responding to posts.

I have learned a lot. There are two basic types: the whole tone and the edge tone. The standard “pucker whistle” is a whole tone, produced outside the lips by turbulence in the air created through blowing. Most people master this basic, reliable whistle by age ten but, shockingly, I have learned that many adults cannot whistle at all. Honestly, I don’t know how these people get out of bed in the morning.

But edge tones, they are a whole different matter. In an edge tone, the turbulence is created by splitting a straight stream of air so that one line continues on its way while another is seduced through a slit to swirl, re-emerge, and clash with its parent. Teakettles produce whole tones; coaches’ whistles emit edge tones. Edge tones involve  angles, bevels, misdirections, and contortions of the face. Often, edge tones increase in volume by minute adjustments that refine the efficiency of the mouth’s stream of air, angling it just so. And a properly designed edge tone is startlingly, almost unbelievably, loud.

Producing edge tones is elaborate, precise, and often counter-intuitive. In my case, learning involved watching YouTube videos repeatedly while holding up a mirror, practicing as often as possible, and finding mentors. I cornered one student’s father at a field hockey game to study his skill; I took pictures and videos of another taxi whistler who was unloading tables for the auction (he did not speak English, so this required mime on my part).  These models were helpful, but no substitute for perseverance. Unexpectedly rewarded by a sudden, pure tone, I had to try to repeat that facial configuration before the muscles gave out. Then I had to remember it later. It’s hard.

Strangely, not everyone has shared my passion. My wife and son, for example, have become less enthusiastic over time. Many of my students, similarly, now sidle away rapidly when they see me approaching, face contorted and hissing. I have gathered some support, mostly from boys to whom  I dispersed fifteen nose flutes after discovering this neglected instrument selling on Amazon for a very reasonable price. One fifth grade boy, Justin, has become a true comrade-in-arms – I recognize his dedication by the strained patience on the faces of his parents and friends. Furthermore, he appears to be mastering a particular whistle faster than I: the tongue-folded-under-bottom-teeth-taxi whistle variant that I once thought violated the laws of physics. Evidently not; I am deeply jealous.

I do not wish to be immodest, but I have met with substantial success. My whistle repertoire now consists of the Pucker, the Trill, the Hand-Coo, the Fingered Taxi Whistle, the Inhaled Whistle, the Bottom-Lip Pinch Whistle, the Invisible Whistle and, yes, two varieties  of the Fingerless Taxi Whistle. I am developing range, accuracy, and volume; I can instantly move from a shrill alert to a gentle conversation with a cardinal or mourning dove. Increasingly my brain, tongue, and mouth automatically work in unison. When frustrated by one whistle, I can review another,  more or less assured of success. On the rare occasions I am asked to perform, I am less likely to find the pressure of an audience reducing me to wheezing incompetence.

I am proud of myself for my sustained effort; learning these whistles has been like writing my dissertation, except more useful. And fairly frequently now, a shocked child will look at me in wonder and ask how to make that sound, and I know what to reply:

Practice.

Huntington (Hunt) Lyman is the Academic Dean and a revered teacher at The Hill School in Middleburg, VA.