One-Dimensional (On Purpose): A Life Told Only in Horses

Riding horses in the blazing August heat of Central Texas might sound like madness, but it’s devotion. Horses are my singular passion, part of my family, my teachers, and the art that fills my world. From sweating through 99-degree rides to collecting equestrian artwork that captures their spirit, this is my story of trust, resilience, and the timeless magic of the horse-human bond.

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There are people who collect many things. I am not one of them.

I am, unapologetically, one-dimensional. My life, my writing, my walls, and my shelves all come back to the same subject: horses. They are my livelihood, my teachers, part of my family, my muses and my art. They have shaped every corner of who I am.

This series, One-Dimensional (On Purpose), is not just about equestrian art. It’s about the stories behind each piece , the places where I found them, the people who entrusted them to me, and the memories they stir when I walk past them. Some are whimsical, some are profound. All of them, in their own way, are pieces of my life.

From sweaty days riding in the Texas heat to unexpected treasures discovered on the road, these horses on my walls and shelves tell the story of my journey: As an equestrian, as an entrepreneur, as a wife and mother, as someone still learning to balance strength and vulnerability.

So here they are, one by one: six pieces of art, six pieces of me.

The Heat, The Horses, The Heart: My Equestrian Journey

It’s August in Central Texas. The temperature hovers at 99 degrees, the humidity is a suffocating 80%, and I’m trying to sit tall in the saddle: full seat breeches, tall leather boots, helmet strapped tight. Sweat slides down my face, dripping slowly with every stride of the horse beneath me.

Am I hot? Yes.

Am I tired? Absolutely….this is my third horse today.

Would I change anything? Not for the world.

There is a line in the arena where the morning sun still has access…and it feels like riding through lava. My body aches, my clothes cling, and yet, I keep showing up. I sometimes wonder where this commitment, some might call it obsession, comes from. My mother loves cats. I like cats too (I live with a few), but my soul belongs to horses.

A One-Dimensional Passion

In my life, in my businesses, in my writing, I am unapologetically one-dimensional: horses are my only topic. And truthfully, it’s more than enough. Horses move my soul in ways that are nearly impossible to capture in words. They make me feel small, reminding me of my place in the vastness of the world. Yet, at the same time, they make me feel big, powerful, and deeply alive.

Their intelligence surprises me sometimes, though perhaps it shouldn’t. Horses have survived alongside humans for centuries. They can read our emotions, understand our body language, and even hear the rhythm of our heartbeat.

I ride one horse who shuts down completely if I carry anger in the saddle, he cannot function when my energy is sharp or unsettled. Another horse doesn’t care about emotions as long as I am fair. Each ride reminds me that trust is a two-way street, and every day I swing into the saddle, I place myself fully at their mercy. They could buck me off, spook, or bolt at any moment…but they don’t. Instead, they choose partnership. That choice humbles me. To me, horses aren’t just companions. They are family.

Horses as Teachers

Every horse I’ve known has taught me something different. Some have been patient professors, others stubborn challengers. Together, they’ve shaped me into who I am.

On my days off, I like to watch them be horses, rolling in the dirt, giving their neighbors dirty looks, eating quietly, sometimes I catch them dozing in the shade. I can watch them all day (I don’t) yet, they never fully leave my mind. My love for them doesn’t switch off when I leave the barn. It lingers, weaving through my thoughts, shaping my decisions, and inspiring my work.

When Passion Meets Art

The funny thing is that my love for horses doesn’t end in the arena or the pasture…it extends into my walls, my décor, my art. Is equestrian art, really art? To me, the answer is simple: yes.

I’m drawn to it because of one obvious reason: it has horses. But it’s deeper than that. Equestrian art is a way of seeing the spirit of the horse captured in paint, bronze, or photograph. Through the years, I’ve collected pieces that resonate with me, not just pretty pictures, but reflections of soul and strength.

The Friesian Oil Painting

One of my most treasured pieces is an oil on canvas of a Friesian horse. If you’ve ever seen a friesian, you know they’re unforgettable, shiny black coats, flowing manes, and a presence that feels almost otherworldly. They are most popular with hollywood, making grand entrances in various movie scenes.

Friesians originated in the Netherlands and were once bred as war horses. Over centuries, they transitioned from knights’ steeds to elegant carriage horses, and today, they shine in dressage arenas around the world. Their beauty is striking, but it’s their history of resilience and adaptability, that inspires me most.

I’ve had the privilege of knowing three Friesians in my life. One of them, now 25 years old, enjoys a well-earned retirement in my pasture. He is the elder statesman of my herd, leading with quiet authority and the wisdom that only comes with age. Over the years, he has given me more than I could have ever asked: helping me earn scores toward my bronze medal, carrying me faithfully through difficult movements both in life and in the saddle, and teaching me that I am capable of hard things.

There were many moments as a rider when I knew I had made mistakes, my timing off, my feel not yet refined. Yet he never gave up on me. Instead, he filled in the gaps, lending me his steadiness and strength when mine fell short. In doing so, he became not only my partner, but also my greatest teacher.

The painting of the Friesian hangs where I see it often. What I love most about it is the way the artist captured his eyes. They hold depth, mystery, and a quiet intensity that feels achingly familiar. The rest of the canvas is whimsical, almost magical, but the eyes… they remind me of who he is, and who he helped me become. It’s a piece that is part horse, part magic. A reflection of art and life, braided together.

Why I Wouldn’t Change a Thing

So, back to that August day. Yes, it’s hot. Yes, I’m exhausted. Yes, the sun feels like lava and the sweat stings my eyes. But the answer remains the same: I wouldn’t change a single thing.

Because at the end of the day, this isn’t insanity. It’s love. Pure, unapologetic love for horses. They are my “why”, and the single dimension that fills my world with depth beyond measure.

And that’s a kind of richness no temperature, no fatigue, and no “sensible” argument could ever take away.