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I was a hunter jumper first. Then, one summer barrel-racing. Then, a few years training to be a jockey. There were so many outfits, personas. So many shows. Numbers strapped to my back, embroidered saddle pads, custom chaps, helmet silks — new equipment for every new discipline. I still wear the gold nameplate leather bracelet with the name of my first pony, Cloud 9, stamped in. He’s a symbol now, too. He saved my life, I tell people. I could tell the weather by the temperature of his nose, I say. My first best friend, I wrote in the acknowledgments of my first book. We never made it big. There was no hero’s journey. My parents gave him away, and I never asked after him, simply because I grew up, and I took things for granted (that pigtailed brat), and I think I was afraid of where he went because it meant he was no longer mine.

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