Learning to Walk: After 35 Years I'm Learning How The Mr. and I were away at a spa in Tucson called Miravel, a place whose logo includes the words "Life in balance" which got me right there. The buzz at the spa was that something called Equine Experience was the class to take. Now, I am not a horse person, I fell asleep during The Horse Whisperer, but everyone promised that while, yes, you basically groomed horses, that it was much more than that, that you learn about yourself in a way you've can't imagine. So, with great unenthusiasm, I signed up, then promptly blew it off the next morning when the time came. I almost escaped equineless, but on the eve before our departure I collapsed at the pressure of the 87th person ranting about it. So I signed up for the 9:00 class on our last day, knowing that would leave me about 4 and a half spare minutes before our noon pick up time. Which was good, cause I had had enough of this leisurely pace crap. "I'm Wyatt," said a graying Marlboro-ish man. A couple sentences later it was clear that he was more of a Plato-ish man, with a dash of the Tootsie Pop wise Owl. I subsequently learned that Wyatt had dropped out of life for a good five years and basically read every book ever written. He had a few things to share. Wyatt took the three of us, all women, to the coral. There was a large horse standing alongside the fence. Wyatt went into the center. "Now I am going to get the horse to start walking." And with that, the horse started walking. Keep in mind that words mean nothing to a horse; Wyatt was communicating solely through body language. He explained that the horse picks up on and basically mirrors back our energy, our intentions. "Now the horse will trot." And the horse began to trot. "Now he will run." And the horse ran. Then Wyatt brought the horse back down to a trot, then a walk, then a stop. We three spectators were awestruck, giddy. It was really a beautiful and powerful thing to have witnessed. "Your turn," he said. Body language? Here's what my body language was saying: "Please, God, let me go last." So first one, then the other, woman took center ring and with Wyatt's gentle guidance figured out how to shift their energy and turn their bodies ever so slightly to take the horse from stop to run and back. Each had difficulty with one aspect or another one couldn't get the horse to budge at first, but with Wyatt's coaching, they more or less mastered the exercise. Wyatt's gaze fell my way. I said a silent prayer. Please let me be able to do this, please let the horse not run me over--I still want to see the new Woody Allen movie. Wyatt showed me how to stand at a certain angle to the horse, and how to adjust my wrist so the whip would dangle just so. And just like that, the horse started walking. Wow, no problem. Then he instructed me to think "trot" and turn ever so slightly. The horse started trotting. Cool. I'm really doing it. But then before Wyatt could OK the next level, and without me realizing what I had done, the horse was running. Running and running and running. "Think trot," said Wyatt. And I tried to shift my energy back down and convey "trot" to this frantic creature. The horse responded. He began running even faster, like someone laced his oats with a case of Dexatrim. "Alright, think walk, Amy. Walk. Walk. Walk," Wyatt said. I tried to think walk, to think slow, to be one with my loose, floppy shoulders, to think of taking a Sunday afternoon stroll holding a bunny. But apparently my body language has a strong Chicago accent, because this horse was not understanding me one bit; he thought I was saying "run, freaky horse, run." After another minute or so or maybe it was six days of Wyatt's patient and pointed coaching, the horse finally finally finally settled into a trot, then a walk, then stopped. Man. I can say at the time, this felt like one of the most profound lessons of my life, an image sure to make it into the final life-flashing-before-me slide show. I walked away with a clear agenda, a vow to mellow the hell out. Granted, within two carpools of being home, I blew all that off. But I am able to catch myself now and again. I keep seeing the horse: running and running and running, and begging me to give him a break.