The Learning Curve

I had the pleasure of participating in a Cooler Horsemanship clinic this past weekend. James, equipped with a headset microphone so we could all hear him teach, worked with ten horses and their owners in a string of individual sessions. A hardy crowd of wind-blown spectators hooked their elbows over the arena rail and learned along with us.

I asked James to help me fine tune Mystic’s side pass on the ground and to introduce me to side passing in the saddle. I learned that the latter maneuver requires knowing how to move your horse’s front quarters—something I was clueless about in the saddle. I won’t go into detail because I’m still figuring the process out (read: I don’t know how to explain), but it’s my newest and next challenge. As you can see from the photo below, it involves complicated reinwork. James described the process as “counterintuitive.” I just call it difficult.

One unexpected benefit of the session was that Margaret Bednar, a fellow boarder, blogger, and über-talented photographer, picked up my camera and started snapping. She captured James riding Mystic—who instantly “collected” himself into a dressage frame. Here’s what he looked like:

I don’t know a whole lot about dressage—clearly Mystic has more experience in that department than I—but even my untutored eye can see the graceful curve in his neck, his compressed energy, and his more balletic movement.

As I tried out my new way of holding the reins, he kept that gorgeous arched neck.

When I went back to a relaxed rein, his posture shifted accordingly. Can you see the difference?

After the session ended, we posed for Margaret. Every time she snapped a photo, Mystic swiveled his ears back. Finally I decided to take matters into my own hands.

Even though learning new things can be tough, Mystic and I always grow from the experience. Best of all, we both ended the afternoon with smiles.

Thanks, Margaret, for photographing us—and for capturing Mystic in all his filthy glory on your blog post “I Wanna Be a Buckskin…” If you haven’t subscribed to Margaret’s blog Just Horses yet, do it now!

Best Buddies

My world lights up when I go to Fiore Farms and find Ben there. Our horses, Mystic and Buddy, are pasture-mates and best friends. I like to think Ben and I are best friends too, though we don’t share the same hay pile.

Ben orchestrating Mystic & Buddy's poses

Ben has a capacious heart—I think it may be the same size as Buddy’s, which means it’s seven to eight times the size of an average human’s. Ben quietly helps wherever he sees the need, whether it’s feeding 23 horses in pouring rain or driving 12 hours round-trip in a day to attend to his ailing parents.

In his civilian life, Ben is an associate professor of religious studies at UNCG. His areas of specialty include feminist religious thought and the intersection of psychology and religion. He was Cornel West’s teaching assistant at Union Theological Seminary, and they remain lifelong friends. Ben taught at Hamilton College before coming to UNCG; his resume also includes teenage ER assistant and zookeeper.

I often ask Ben about his classes, and his answers make me wish I were one of his students. When teaching Introduction to Religious Studies to a huge class of freshmen last fall, he arrived one day with more than 100 fresh oranges. The students read Thich Nhat Hanh’s “Mindful Eating,” which includes this gentle advice:

The students then peeled and ate their oranges as mindfully as 18-year-olds are capable of. Ben cackled as he recounted their impatience and bafflement. A professor for more than three decades, he knew the mindfulness concept might take root in a few students—and that would be enough.

At Fiore Farms, Ben has taken on the job of cleaning the sheds—a polite euphemism for manure-scooping—as well as feeding the herd several times a week. Not every farm has a Ph.D. recipient wheeling barrows of horse dung, but then, Fiore Farms is not just any place. Ben performs his chores with a Thoreauian appreciation for the pleasures of humility and simplicity.

For all his hard-working, self-effacing Puritan qualities, Ben is a softie when it comes to Buddy. He loves that horse with the fuzzy gaze of a doting parent—to him, Buddy, part Clydesdale, part mystery, with his scrubby tail and long, pink-nosed face, is perfect. Together they ride with the Sedgefield Hunt, barreling through the countryside in non-lethal pursuit of coyotes and foxes. It’s a sport for daredevils and adrenaline-junkies, which apparently Ben and Buddy qualify as, though you wouldn’t necessarily know it to look at them.

The incomparable Buddy

Ben and I often ride the trail together: sharing life philosophies and barn gossip while we journey through woods and pasture brings the same kind of joy as mindfully eating an orange. Maybe even more.

Loving horses has brought gifts like Ben into my life. In my experience, horse people are always people you can count on. They tend to be kind, generous, thoughtful, and refreshingly down-to-earth. So thanks Ben—and Angela, Amanda, Jane, Elizabeth, Joanie, Jeanne, Marina, Pat, both Margarets, Jeannette, Emma, James, Kate, and all the rest of you. You bring me a lot of happiness.

Ben & Buddy

Transformations

The new year got me thinking about the beauty and power of transformation. I’m a sucker for any narrative about deep-seated change—as author Anne Lamott writes, “Everyone loves a good resurrection story”—and my new incarnation as a mental health counselor is founded on the principle that all of us are capable of profound personal transformation.

I can’t help but summon up Mystic and his resurrection story as 2012 rolls in. I won’t rehash the details because they’re already threaded throughout my blog, but I will present graphic evidence of Mystic’s physical and emotional changes. Here he is below when I first started working with him in April 2011. Notice that, aside from being out of shape, he looks tentative and tuned out. He’s not focusing on James or me; instead he seems to be retreating inside himself. His ears point backward, showing discomfort and wariness. He is standing with one front and one hind leg forward, ready to run away or back up in the blink of an eye.

And here’s Mystic in October 2011, looking more like the athlete he was born to be. (I love watching his body change: his chest, shoulders, and rump are muscling up, and his topline is filling out.) He holds himself differently too, with pride and confidence. Standing squarely on all four feet, he is focused intently on me, his ears pointed forward in anticipation, showing full partnership and readiness to take on the next challenge.

I treasure transformations because I’ve been through some big ones. My most life-changing transformation happened 17 years ago, when I had a psychotic break and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I detailed this process of falling apart and then putting myself together again in a Newsweek essay that appeared in July 2002 (click here to read the essay). “Coming out” in a national magazine was an act of self-declaration and a call-out to others who might relate to my story. Letters and phone calls poured in from all over the country, and I felt like I’d finally done something meaningful with my life. Like Mystic, I carried myself with more pride and confidence once I began to peel off old layers and discover my core self.

As I was recovering from my breakdown—or “breakthrough,” as my therapist preferred to put it—I started smashing plates and creating mosaics out of the broken pieces. It was art as metaphor, reminding me again and again that destruction creates pathways for creation. With each piece I made from broken, cast-off objects, I understood more deeply that beauty comes from forming new patterns and not clinging to the concept of perfect wholeness.

Mystic was broken in some ways when I first met him. It’s been a joy to help him put the pieces back together, and to learn more about my own strengths and weaknesses in the process. Although I’ve worked with numerous human clients in my counseling internship, Mystic has in many ways been my most formative client. He’s taught me the profundity of body language, the importance of trust, and the power of a loving relationship.  He’s taught me that progress is not linear, and that the quality of what I offer determines his response. He’s taught me horses can help people heal and vice versa—and that equine-assisted psychotherapy is truly the direction I want to pursue.

Am I telling Mystic’s transformation story or mine? They’re so wrapped together that it’s hard to say. All I know is that every change in my life—whether painful or joyful—has brought me to this moment, and I look forward to the transformations ahead, which happen not according to the annual calendar but in small and big ways every day.

Shiva, the Hindu god of destruction and creation

Dig That Crazy Christmas Special

Many years ago I swore I would never perform in a horse show again. Too much pressure, no fun.

Never say never.

Mystic and I took part in the Cooler Horsemanship Christmas Special on December 20. It wasn’t really a show—more a gathering of people who love natural horsemanship and want to demonstrate what we’ve learned. It was all fun and no pressure. Everybody pitched in, festooning Fiore Farms with garlands, velvet ribbons, and Christmas lights. Boarders brought giant plates of cookies and cakes, and a crock pot of hot mulled cider steamed in the corner of the tack lounge.

Santa Claus came too and visited with Mystic before the show. I believe Mystic told him, “All I want for Christmas is to get rid of these girly decorations.”

Santa, Mystic, and a small admirer

Family and friends turned out to watch, cheering on our small triumphs and spangled horses.  Highlights included Elizabeth, dressed as “Mother Ginger,” sprinkling fairy dust while “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” played.

Elizabeth, Sonder, and a spray of fairy dust

Jane and Ben and Mystic and I did ground play to the tune of “Redbird,” a foot-tapping string band number that seemed in my mind to go on forever. How come in rehearsals everything had gone so much more smoothly?

Jane and Ben

Mystic and me

The Bednar girls sang “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” while performing with their little buckskin quarter horse, Oberon.

Jeannette, Emma, and Oberon

Thirteen-year-old Amanda, who chose to keep her young horse, Zip, dignifiedly decoration-free, performed a relaxed rendition of “Linus and Lucy.”

Amanda and Zip

James and Indigo did freedom play to the tune of “Dig That Crazy Santa Claus.” James deserved the good sport award for wearing an elf costume that would have emasculated anyone else but somehow looked charming on him.

Indigo and Elf James

Kleo and Kate showed off their dressage moves to “The Carol of the Bells” by George Winston. It’s hard to say who looked more gorgeous, horse or rider. Kleo wore tinsel leg wraps that made her look like a Dallas Cowgirl; as she stood on the pedestal and caught sight of her own feet, she snorted with fear, no doubt thinking, What the heck are those shiny things?

Kate and Kleo

Afterward we gathered and ate and hugged and congratulated each other. Everybody’s face was shining, and our horses looked pretty proud of themselves too.

I’m already looking forward to next year. Consider this your invitation to the second annual Cooler Horsemanship Christmas Special.

Many thanks to Margaret Bednar for supplying photographs of the Christmas special. See more of Margaret’s photos and read about her own adventures with natural horsemanship at her blog, Just Horses.

What’s Inside Your Dreams?

Another birthday with no pony

When I was a little girl, every birthday morning I woke up hoping to find a mysterious string on the floor beside my bed. I imagined picking up the end of the string and following it out of my bedroom, down the stairs, through the yard, and into the garage, where I’d find a pony waiting for me. A pony, just for me.

For years I sustained that fantasy, drawn from the plot of one of my horse books. It was fiction, of course, but—against all odds—I believed the string-leading-to-pony thing could happen to me.

Three weeks ago, on 11/11/11—an auspicious date if ever there was one—I got my pony. Except he’s not a pony—he’s a 15-hand, 16-year-old white horse with a silvery gray mane and tail.

For those of you who’ve been reading this blog over the long haul, you’ve probably guessed: I am now the proud caretaker of Mystic. “Owner” is another word for it, but that sounds a bit chattel-like for my tastes.

I feel like the luckiest person on the planet.

Mystic the dream horse

My relationship with Mystic feels much the same, yet subtly different. I get to call him “my” horse now. I no longer have to worry that someone else will lease or buy him. I’m responsible for his care and well-being, in sickness and in health. Our relationship is as official as it can be, short of a justice of the peace.

After surviving a long, not particularly happy 16-year-marriage, I swore I’d never re-up for a lifetime commitment. And yet here I am, committing—committed!—without qualms.

Maybe it’s because this feels like an equal relationship, one of give-and-take and trust. Maybe it’s because I get back from Mystic far more than I give.

True partnership

In a way, my new caretaker status hasn’t sunk in yet. I dreamed as a child of having a white horse of my own. I put that dream away for years, forgetting it even existed.  Now I feed my dream carrots and curry comb the dust out of his fuzzy coat.

The fact that my dream came true so unexpectedly reminds me of a favorite quote from Gloria Steinem: “If what’s inside your dreams wasn’t already real inside you, you couldn’t even dream it.”

In other words, our dreams aren’t a cruel joke. They’re inside us because they’re meant to come true.

So keep dreaming, and I will too.

Giving Thanks

Today I give thanks for my parents, my family and friends, and all the people in my life who honor and love horses, especially James and Kate. I give thanks for my son, Gabe, who has weathered hard passages and emerged as an extraordinary young man with a tender spirit. I give thanks for Mystic, who has totally and completely captured my heart.

As you may have noticed, I love poems: In honor of Thanksgiving, here’s a treasured one by e. e. cummings, followed by some favorite photos—many taken by my sister Abigail, a photographer by trade and passion.

My parents Thaddeus & Polly as newlyweds, 1949

Seymour family Thanksgiving, 1962 (I'm in the front row, far right)

Sisters, Thanksgiving 1996

Cousins, Thanksgiving 2000 (my son Gabe is third from left)

Gabe & me, Christmas 2009

My sister Liz, advocate of people experiencing homelessness, 2009

My brother T. with niece Lila Mae, 2010

My brother Sam with his wife Karen, 2011

My sister Abigail with children Lila Mae & Joaquin, 2010

My parents, 2003

My barn family at Fiore Farms, October 2011

Thank you for this most amazing day.

SEFHA Colt Starter Challenge: Part II

In my previous post, I described the first three rounds of the SEFHA Colt Starter Challenge, in which trainers James Cooler, Randy Abernathy, and Pam Tanner worked with three green colts. The final challenge required the trainers to take their colts through an obstacle course. A panel of four judges scored the trainers on their working knowledge of natural horsemanship. According to host Tom Seay, whether the trainers rode their horses was secondary. He told the crowd, “If you all came here to see who gets on their horse first, don’t bother. It’s all about communication.”

Host Tom Seay introduces the trainers, ferried into the arena in a shiny red truck

Pam Tanner was the first trainer to take on the obstacle course; her horse, Valentino, unsettled at being in the arena without other horses, took a while to calm down. Pam opted not to ride him; instead she did some fundamentals on the ground and started walking him through the obstacle course.  He balked at the first jump, and then time ran out. Much of the twenty minutes allotted for the obstacle course had gone toward calming her horse.

Next came Randy Abernathy, whose horse Tom was equally jumpy. Randy worked patiently with Tom in the round pen, getting him settled enough to ride. Randy rode forward, backward, executed a required turn, and made it through the first obstacle, a zigzag configuration of poles. Like the previous horse, Tom stopped at the jump and refused to step over.  Again, time ran out.

James Cooler was the final contestant. He’d already stated that he wouldn’t ride because he didn’t want to push his horse into fear and away from the confidence he’d gained in the first three rounds. Like the other horses, William was edgy at being alone in the round pen. He surrendered his anxiety quickly, however, seeming to remember James’ leadership. James took him out of the round pen, picked up each of his hooves, and executed all the required basic moves except mounting and dismounting. He then “sent” William through the obstacle course, walking beside him rather than leading him. Little William—“Prince William” as James affectionately called him—hesitated briefly at the outset, then took each obstacle with aplomb.

William walks over the jump

His confidence visibly increased with each new challenge; he stepped through a pile of plastic noodles and crossed a wooden platform with a lilt in his step. “I’m doing it!” he seemed to be thinking. “Yay for me!”

Sniffing and navigating the noodles

James and William completed the obstacle course with a second to spare. When they finished, the arena erupted with cheers and clapping. William and his newfound confidence were clear crowd favorites.

Those of us on Team Cooler (as I stated in my previous post, this is a biased account) held hands and gripped thighs while waiting to hear who won. It had to be James: he’d taken a panicky little colt and taught him to begin working through his fears. William had learned to trust, to team up with a human, and to tap into his inner strength. The other trainers had done a fine job, but their agenda seemed to be preparing their horses for riding. There had been no equine cognitive-behavioral restructuring going on in those two pens.

Randy (left), James, and Pam wait for the judges to announce the winner; the first-prize saddle is behind them

And then the winner was announced: Randy Abernathy. The arena was quieter than you might expect for a victory announcement. Given my bias, I can’t be sure—but it seemed many in the audience were shocked.

At the beginning of the challenge, host Tom Seay talked about a 2,000-mile ride he and a group of horsemen took from Mexico to Canada. “The question in everybody’s mind was: Who is going to cross the finish line first?” Seay related. “Then a Native American who took part in the ride said, ‘Line the horses up and we’ll all cross together.’”

Seay told the story to emphasize that all the trainers were winners—and he was right. More important, the colts came out winners. They learned from three gifted trainers and got a solid, if somewhat rushed, foundation.

But still. Only one person took home the handmade saddle and the 500-pound bag of grain.

James was philosophical about the outcome but slightly subdued afterward. As for all the Cooler Horsemanship students who came out to support him at the challenge, a bunch of us spontaneously showed up at Fiore Farms the next day and took our horses out of the pastures. There we were: Rebecca and Jeannie, Dream and Joanie, Sonder and Elizabeth, Ben and Jane, Oberon and Margaret, Mystic and me. We played with our horses, using the knowledge James and Kate taught us. The arena was alive with horses and students, with joy and partnership.

I don’t know if James saw us from the window of his house, but I hope he did. I hope he saw and understood the reach of his gifts.

Cooler Horsemanship students Jane, Jeannie, and Joanie with their horses the day after the colt-starting challenge

SEFHA Colt Starter Challenge: Part I

Yesterday natural horsemanship trainers James Cooler, Randy Abernathy, and Pam Tanner competed in the first annual SEFHA Colt Starter Challenge. It took place in the indoor riding arena at Chatham Hall, a girls’ boarding school in Virginia. Several hundred people showed up to watch the all-day event, in which the trainers spent three one-hour sessions putting green colts through high-speed basic training, culminating in an obstacle course. Tom Seay, host of America on Horseback, served as announcer, and Ken McNabb of the RFD-TV show Discovering the Horseman Within was lead judge.

Host Tom Seay (left) and lead judge Ken McNabb

And that, dear readers, marks the end of my objective rendition of the challenge. From here on out, it’s all bias and opinion. Just sayin’.

Each trainer picked a number out of a bag to find out which colt she or he would work with. The colts, all sired by the same thoroughbred, looked scrubby and undernourished—except for Valentino, the black Arabian-thoroughbred cross in round pen two.

James got last pick and ended up in round pen one with William, a bay Anglo-Arab who started out lovey-dovey then turned into a firecracker once James strapped on the bareback pad. “Maybe our honeymoon period is a little bit over,” James commented wryly.

James and William during their honeymoon period

Yup, the honeymoon was definitely over, and the newlyweds had some major issues to work out. William turned out to have a mile-wide skittish streak and a god-given talent for leaping, twisting bucks.

Host Tom Seay, who never met a silence he couldn’t fill, joked about the ruckus in round pen one: “James is in a cloud of dust. His round pen may sell for cheaper after the show because it’s been kicked.”

William encounters his first bareback pad: not love at first cinch

The other two trainers had pussycats by comparison; neither horse had an inclination for bucking. Valentino, the looker of the three colts, was a sensitive, compliant fellow.

Pam Tanner bonds with Valentino

Randy’s colt, whose name I never learned—I’ll call him Tom because his diminutive frame put me in mind of Tom Thumb—was anxious and high-strung at first but settled down as Randy steadily put him through his paces.

The one-hour sessions flew past, progressing from building trust to directing the colts’ movements through body language to tacking up. In the third session, Pam and Randy climbed into the saddle. The crowd held its collective breath when Randy, a substantial man, swung aboard skinny-ribbed Tom. Randy had the wisdom and humor to point out the obvious: “Let’s face it—I’m a fat man and this is a little horse. We’re going to take it slow and easy.”

Big man, little colt

Meanwhile James, who’d put his full weight on William’s back in the first round, chose to focus on ground work during the third session. He explained to the crowd that he was concerned about safety—his own and the colt’s—given William’s extreme fear-based reactions. He didn’t want to tax the colt’s already strained mental and emotional resources, so he made the decision not to ride him in the competition. Instead he focused on helping William push past his fears and grow his confidence.

“He has a panic button. I’m trying to get him to see that he doesn’t have to go there,” James told the audience. He pointed out a dark sweat patch on William: “Sweat patches on a horse means there’s something that isn’t clicking. He’s holding a lot of stress inside.”

He kept the colt moving briskly around the pen to help occupy his adrenaline-charged mind and release his energy. Then James dragged a blue plastic tarp into the round pen. William freaked out at first, going straight into right-brain panic mode. Then slowly, hesitatingly, he gained the courage to sniff and paw this slippery blue apparition. Suddenly he looked like a curious horse, not just a reactive one: his internal shift had begun. The audience—which included a substantial block of unabashed Cooler Horsemanship supporters wearing “Team Cooler” buttons—broke out into applause. Everyone seemed to be rooting for the plucky little horse who was facing down his fears with James’ help.

William takes his first sniff of the blue tarp

Check back soon for Part II to find out how the colts fared in the obstacle course and which trainer won the challenge. Many thanks to photographer extraordinaire Margaret Bednar, who supplied images for this blog post.

It Takes Time

I started working with Mystic 191 days ago. We were paired together at a Cooler Horsemanship clinic on April 29, 2011, and life has never been the same since. If I sound like a teenage girl counting the days I’ve been dating a boy, or a new mother recounting her infant son’s age, that’s no coincidence. Developing a deep relationship with a horse stirs up all kinds of feelings: maternal, loving, bemused, proud, joyous.

Early days with Mystic

As a beginning counselor, I’ve found that a similar process unfolds with my clients. It takes time, commitment, and understanding to develop a trusting relationship. As we log more sessions together, I get to see clients in various mood states; I see them defended and vulnerable, angry and peaceful, hurt and healing. I come to know their patterns of thinking, where their most entrenched beliefs come from, and what wounds lie deepest. Did I say that takes time? Well, let me say it again: Building a therapeutic relationship takes time.

Practicing natural horsemanship takes time too. That’s probably why a lot of people walk away from it, or never try it in the first place. Hurrying the process doesn’t work, with horses or humans. I can vouch for that with a fall I took yesterday after foolishly jumping on Mystic’s back without a saddle, bridle, or reins. I figured our relationship had advanced far enough that I could just skip the riding aids. He immediately sped up while I grabbed his mane and gripped with my legs; the harder I gripped, the faster he went. When he took a rapid turn, I flew off and swallowed a well-deserved mouthful of grit. Mystic paused and looked at me splayed on the ground; my hunch is his thoughts went something like this: Are you crazy? We don’t know each other that well—and you clearly don’t know what you’re doing. Why don’t you slow down and take things in the proper order? Oh, and by the way, James and Kate have a lot to teach you.

With Mystic in October 2011, wisely using a saddle, halter, and reins

Rushing a time-honored process makes me think of my internship site, Family Service of the Piedmont, which has to follow the usual rules of managed care when it comes to mental health services. Typically, health insurance providers such as Blue Cross Blue Shield and Medicaid approve 90 days of once-weekly therapy for clients, who struggle with issues like crippling anxiety, PTSD from sexual abuse, and overwhelming depression. The insurers require documented, empirically validated results by the end of that period; if enough progress is indicated, another 90 days may be approved.

Once a week for 90 days equals 12 fifty-minute sessions. I’ve spent 191 days with Mystic, and we’re just getting started. I’m seeing clients for their sixth, seventh, eighth sessions, and we’re just getting started.

It takes time.

Carl Rogers, who believed in the power of the therapeutic relationship

Carl Rogers, the granddaddy of person-centered therapy, said, “”In my early professional years I was asking the question: How can I treat, or cure, or change this person? Now I would phrase the question in this way: How can I provide a relationship which this person may use for his own personal growth?”

Treating and curing versus personal growth: the first two are quick fixes; the other is a process.

I wonder what Carl Rogers would think of natural horsemanship.

Be a Bold Swimmer

My friends Gary and Julie Holmes, who run Shangrila Guest Ranch in southern Virginia, just sent me this photo of their one-year-old daughter, Melody, merrily astride one of the trail horses. The contrast of the tiny tot on the giant draft horse made me laugh out loud. If you look closely, you’ll see Gary (or, more accurately, a bit of Gary’s leg) standing on the other side of Rosie. You can be sure he’s holding on to Melody with all he’s got.

After I was done laughing, I began to parse the photo, which speaks to me at a level far deeper than sight gag. For me, this image represents a boldness and delight in life that all of us might aspire to. It came to me at a time when I’m feeling less than bold: I see the gap between my skills as a fledgling counselor and where I wish to be; I wonder if I truly have the ability to help Mystic recover from his seemingly bottomless trauma. My doubts, whether about working with horses or humans, boil down to the same thing: Am I enough?

When I look at this photo, I see a little girl who knows she’s enough. She embodies fearlessness, joy, and power. She’s independent yet supported by her father’s steadying hand. Other people support her too: the person just out of frame who is holding Rosie’s reins, the photographer capturing her moment of mastery. She grips the horn, providing her own stability and security. As she grows up, she’ll look at this picture and be reminded of her own strength and willingness to take risks.

This enchanting picture reminds me of all the supports I have—family, friends, professors, fellow horse lovers—and, most of all, my parents, who are always standing on the other side of the horse for me. It reminds me of the joys of risk-taking and independence. And it reminds me of one of my father’s favorite poems, “Song of Myself,” by the 19th-century poet Walt Whitman—a stunning paean to the power of self-transcendence. Melody, you’re an inspiration.