I was ten years old when my mom and I began to look for a horse. For several years prior to that, I had ridden and leased a myriad of horses from Andrea, my first instructor. There was Kingston, with whom I learned to post; Benji, with whom I learned to canter; Yankee, with whom I learned how to fall off; Premier, with whom I learned to stay on despite his efforts at unseating me; Pickles, with whom I learned the intricacies of a bouncy trot; and Victoree, with whom I learned how to play horse show.

My relatively short term relationships with each of the aforementioned horses prepared me for the commitment of owning my own and after several years, my mother and I ventured forth to find me a Morgan of my very own. We drove around New England, my mother with her camcorder and me with my optimism. I think my pickiness was surprising because at one point, after I'd vetoed yet another prospect, my mother turned the camera on me and said, "What is it exactly that you are looking for in a horse, Allie?" We have this on tape, me sitting in the passenger side of her Volvo, responding to the camera as one would answer the question of an ESPN correspondent, "Someone who is serious, committed, and who wants to work with me as much as I want to work with them," I replied.

When we met Barry in early November, I announced that the search was over, I'd found my partner of choice. Such is not to say that he didn't put me through the ringer. In fact, for an entire year following our initial meeting, Barry would stop dead between the second way trot and canter and refuse to move forward, backing away from my insistent leg pressure. Initially, I was completely disappointed. "How could this happen to me?" I wondered, discovering then that if something looks to good to be true, it usually is. What I know now, and couldn't know then, is that, perfection is overrated; it is more desirable to weather a complicated storm and come out that much stronger and more appreciative of calm seas, than to float forever on docile waters, going nowhere in the process.

In any case, the challenge Barry presented was solved only through creativity and a method of compromise developed with the help of my trainer Judy, to whom we had moved, hoping she could help. Help us she did, and Barry and I developed into a team, moving around our points of conflict rather than trying to force our way through them. Our teamwork was reflected in our show ring success. Likewise, when my adolescent increase in height matched up with a maturation of my riding style and it became time for Barry and I to go our separate ways, we did so with love and acceptance, albeit many tears on my part…and indifferent looks on his.

But then, I met Ham. My true love, a true partner, an animal ushered into my life because of the bond I'd made with Barry and the lessons we had learned. Through my teamwork with Barry, I'd grown as an individual rider, becoming ready for a more mature partner, a partner like Ham. In trying to convince my parents of this point, I composed an essay, purposefully entitled, "Why Cabot Courage Command is the Horse for me," in which I asserted that, "he matches me in desire and work ethic, and is the most beautiful animal I've ever seen." My belief in him proved positive, although, as with Barry, we certainly had our challenges, particularly because that which we grappled with as individuals was mirrored by our trials as a team. Nevertheless, our relationship has been one in which we've both grown, coming together to achieve great goals. And even though these days we spend most of our time apart, each of us having focused on other areas, people and pursuits, he is forever in my heart and mind.

Ok, so what does all this back story have to do with reflection on the present? Stay with me, here is the tie in. Last night, walking home in the heat and observing the disparate love affairs that litter Manhattan's streets this time of year, I got to thinking about the initial stages of a relationship; any kind of relationship. It's about getting to know someone, trying them out if you will, just as it was so many years back when I rode a multitude of different horses, learning something new from each one, and assembling those experiences into an idea of what I did and did not want in a partner. So although my girlfriends and I oftentimes bemoan the annoyance of disappointed hopes and the fear that builds when it comes to our love interests, maybe we just need to adjust our angle. With each date, with each brief affair or each year of a committed relationship, rather than ask how we can control the other person, perhaps we should wonder what we're learning about ourselves. What are we learning about what we do and don't want in a partner? I think the modern day myths that promise a "one and only" can sometimes serve to obscure the fact that each encounter, no matter how brief, is a gift. I think about the guys I've known and the friendships and heartache they've left me with, and I realize that, without all that, I'd not be so far along the road to realizing what it is I really want. Somewhere though, I've known it all along. Maybe, for me, it's just easier to identify when talking about a horse.

"Someone who is serious, committed, and who wants to work with me as much as I want to work with them…"