Balancing Ambition with Patience and Reward

Balancing Ambition with Patience and Reward

Today - I’m going to start with a quote: 

"What value can there be in a new exercise for the horse if the demand is excessive? What end is gained in having obtained the execution of a movement if it is wrongly done, and if the horse is left with the impression of such a lesson? One cannot repeat often enough Beudant's injunction: 'Ask for much, be content with little, and reward often.' In this last, lies the secret to leaving the horse still fresh, with a good impression for the next lesson."

Nuno Oliveira, Reflections on Equestrian Art

You may have heard the "ask for much, be content with little, reward often" part of this in slightly different words, especially from natural horsemanship followers and teachers. Etienne Beudant may or may not have been the "father" of this phrase in the late 1800s, and he likely learned a version of it from a mentor who had learned it from their mentor, and so on and so on. These wisdoms can often be traced back to the very beginnings of horsemanship. They transcend time!

I've been sitting with this quote lately. Really sitting with it. Reading it over my morning coffee, thinking about it as I do my barn chores, letting it turn over in my mind while I'm grooming.

Because there's something in those words that cuts right to the heart of the struggle we all face when working with horses: this delicate, sometimes agonizing tension between wanting progress and honoring the process. Between having ambition for what we're building and having the patience to let it unfold in its own time.

And that phrase from Beudant that Oliveira reminds us we cannot repeat often enough: "Ask for much, be content with little, and reward often."

It sounds simple. Almost too simple. But it just might contain the secret to artful horsemanship, and maybe to artful living.

1. THE AMBITION TRAP

We arrive at the barn with goals. This is natural. This is human. We want to canter that 20-meter circle with better balance. We want to load into the trailer without hesitation. We want to nail that flying change, master that lateral movement, build that partnership we can see so clearly in our mind's eye.

We have timelines. The show is in six weeks. We're not getting any younger, and neither is our horse or mule. We measure our progress in weeks and months, in concrete achievements we can point to and say, "There. We did that."

The horse or mule, meanwhile, shows up with only this moment.

They don't know it's Tuesday and we only have four more sessions before the clinic. They don't care that we've been working on this particular skill for three weeks and really should have it by now. They arrive in their body as it is today, perhaps a little stiff from yesterday's work, perhaps distracted by the wind, perhaps finally relaxed and focused in a way they haven't been all week.

This is where the ambition trap opens before us.

Our achievement-oriented culture has trained us so well. Set a goal. Make a plan. Execute. Measure. Achieve. Move on to the next goal. It works brilliantly for so many things in our lives. But the horse doesn't operate on project management principles.

And here's what's insidious about this trap: our very competence, our ability to see what's possible, our vision of what this horse could become, these gifts can become obstacles. Because when you can clearly see where you're going, it can be excruciating to honor the pace of getting there.

The difference between having standards and having rigid expectations is everything.

Standards say: "This is the quality of work we're building toward. This is the feel I'm cultivating. This is the partnership I'm committed to creating." Standards are directional. They point us forward while remaining grounded in principles.

Rigid expectations say: "We should be here by now. This horse should understand this. I should be able to do this." (Have I mentioned that I’m attempting to remove the word ‘should’ from my vocabulary… maybe more on that some other time) - Rigid expectations are judgmental. They create a gap between what is and what should be, and then they punish everyone, horse and human, for the existence of that gap.

I watch this in myself. I'll have a picture in my mind of how a session should go. The horse will offer something, maybe it's 60% of what I asked for, maybe it's a little crooked but trying so hard, and I'll catch myself dismissing it because it's not the full picture yet. Not quite right. Not there yet.

And in that dismissal, I miss the miracle. The try. The tiny shift in understanding. The moment where the horse reached toward me with their effort.

This is what Oliveira is warning us about: "What value can there be in a new exercise for the horse if the demand is excessive?"

None. No value at all. Worse than no value, we're actually teaching the wrong lesson. We're teaching the horse that trying isn't enough. That their effort doesn't matter if it's not perfect. We're creating anxiety around learning instead of confidence in the process.

The courage this requires, to ask for much while being content with little, is easy to underestimate. Because being content with little can feel like settling. It can feel like we're abandoning our standards, lowering the bar, accepting mediocrity.

But that's not what's happening at all. - So let’s break it down…

2. "ASK FOR MUCH, BE CONTENT WITH LITTLE"

Ask for much.

This isn't about being aggressive or demanding. It's about having vision. It's about knowing what's possible, not just for horses in general, but for this horse, this body, this mind standing before you. It's about having clarity in what you're building toward..

When we ask for much, we're saying: "I believe in your potential. I can see what you're capable of becoming. I'm going to invite you toward that possibility."

Asking for much means we don't settle into habitual patterns that keep both horse and human small. It means we keep reaching for refinement, for softness, for understanding. It means we maintain standards of quality in our work together.

But here's where the wisdom comes in: Be content with little.

Not satisfied with little, content with little. There's a difference.

Being content with little means we have the sophistication to recognize the smallest try. The tiniest shift. The moment where the horse's thought changed, even if their body hasn't quite caught up yet. The flash of understanding in their eye before the movement even happens.

It means we can sense the weight shift as progress toward lateral work. We can feel the half-second of softness in the jaw as a step toward self-carriage. We can recognize the horse taking one step closer to the mounting block as enormous courage for the anxious horse.

This is actually incredibly demanding of us as equine people. It requires such refined feel, such deep observation, such presence in the moment. We have to be educated enough to see the much we're asking for, while humble enough to celebrate the little we receive.

Think about what Oliveira is really saying here. He's not telling us to accept poor quality work. He's telling us to recognize developmental quality. To understand that excellent horsemanship isn't about getting the perfect movement today, it's about getting one small piece of understanding that builds toward the perfect movement tomorrow, next month, next year.

I love how he frames Beudant's words as something "we cannot repeat often enough." Because we need to hear this again and again. Our ambition is so loud. Our timelines are so pressing. The voice that says "ask for much" comes naturally to most of us. But the voice that says "be content with little"? That one we have to cultivate. We have to practice. We have to remind ourselves, over and over.

This is where the real skill lives, in the gap between the much we ask for and the little we're content with.

That gap is where learning happens. That gap is where trust builds. That gap is where the horse discovers that trying is safe, that effort is recognized, that their partnership with us is about the journey, not just the destination.

When we collapse that gap, when we demand that the much we ask for must be delivered immediately and completely, we create anxiety. We create horses who are afraid to offer, afraid to try, because anything less than perfect brings pressure instead of release.

But when we hold that gap with wisdom, when we ask clearly for much while genuinely celebrating little, we create something else entirely. We create horses who are brave in their learning. Who offer willingly. Who try new things with confidence because they trust that their effort will be met with recognition and reward, not criticism for falling short.

The moment of release IS the teaching moment.

And here's what's beautiful: when we consistently ask for much and reward little, the little becomes more. Not through pressure, but through confidence. The horse who is celebrated for a tiny try will offer a bigger try next time. Not because we demanded it, but because success breeds willingness.

This isn't lowering our standards. This is understanding development.

A horse learning piaffe doesn't start with perfect piaffe. They start with weight shifts. With tiny moments of elevation. With the idea of the movement before the movement itself exists. If we can only reward perfect piaffe, we'll never get there. But if we can reward the thought, the try, the approximation, and keep asking for much while doing so, we build toward perfection rather than demanding it.

3. "REWARD OFTEN"

And this brings us to what Oliveira calls the secret. The thing he emphasizes above all else in this quote.

Reward often.

"In this last, lies the secret to leaving the horse still fresh, with a good impression for the next lesson."

Let's sit with that for a moment. The secret isn't in the complexity of the exercise. It isn't in the perfection of the execution. It's in the frequency of reward and the timing for the end of a session in reward - leaving the horse looking forward to the next session.

Why?

Because every reward is a period at the end of a sentence. It's a moment where the horse gets to relax, to process, to feel successful. It's a bookmark in their learning that says: "This. Remember this. This was right."

When we reward often, we're not just making the horse feel good, though that matters enormously. We're creating the psychological conditions for learning.

Think about what happens in the horse's nervous system when they're searching for the right answer and never quite finding it. The pressure builds. The anxiety rises. The try becomes desperate rather than thoughtful. They start throwing answers at us, hoping something will stick, rather than learning to feel for the correct response.

But when reward comes often, not for perfection, but for genuine tries, something different happens. The horse stays mentally fresh. They stay curious. They stay willing to keep offering.

This is the difference between a horse who works with you and a horse who works for you or against you.

A horse working with you is offering, trying, thinking. They're a partner in the process.

A horse working for you is complying, enduring, surviving. They're a subject under command.

And what determines which kind of partnership we build? How often we reward.

Now, let's be clear about what reward means, because I think we sometimes have too narrow a definition.

Yes, reward can be a treat, a scratch on the withers, verbal praise. But the most powerful reward in training is often the simplest: release.

Release of pressure. Release of the question. A moment to stand and breathe and process. The ability to stretch, to walk on a long rein, to simply exist without a request.

Release tells the horse: "You found it. That's the answer I was looking for. We're done with that question now."

And then release, or the type thereof, evolves as the training evolves.

When we're first teaching a new concept, release often means a complete break. We ask, the horse tries, we reward with dwelling time. Time to stand, to breathe, to let the learning settle. This is crucial. The horse needs this space to process, to understand that they found the right answer, to let their nervous system relax around this new thing.

But as understanding develops, as the movement or concept becomes more refined, release can become something more subtle. Something exquisite.

The French masters call it descente de main, the releasing of the aid. That momentary opening of the hand. That "free on parole" moment where you give the horse liberty within the work to show you they understand. It's a YES felt through relaxation in your body, a softening of your seat, a moment of complete harmony.

And then, the refined asking again.

This is where training becomes conversation. You ask, the horse responds, you release in that flash of correctness, you ask again. The horse offers more, you release again. Back and forth, building, refining, the dialogue never ending but punctuated constantly with these moments of YES.

The try develops and you meet it with another YES. And another. The horse learns that every good moment is recognized, even within the continuous flow of work.

This is reward often at its most sophisticated. Not stopping every few seconds, but creating a rhythm of ask and release, suggest and softening, question and answer that keeps the horse mentally and physically fresh even as you work toward increasingly refined goals.

I recently rode a client horse and had kept my mic on - I often whisper or talk while I ride - and so my dialogue in this case was recorded - it went something like this: “Right here, Yes, yes, try this, no this way, yes yes, soft soft, yes, ok now this foot, yes! Perfect… and now this one, yes! …. Etc. etc…”  I didn’t realize how much I yammered on, but it was interesting to listen to… 

This requires us to stay present. To stay observant. To notice the tiny victories that are so easy to miss when we're focused on the larger goal.

It's humbling, actually. Because it means we have to be good enough to see what deserves reward. Skilled enough to recognize the moment. Humble enough to celebrate progress that doesn't match our original timeline.

But this is where willing partners come from. Not from demanding perfection. Not from waiting until everything is just right. But from rewarding often, generously, genuinely, for honest effort in the direction we're asking.

And here's a question worth sitting with: Can we do this with ourselves?

When we try something new in our riding, in our life, when we attempt that haunches-in and it's not quite right but it's closer than yesterday, can we acknowledge our own try? Can we give ourselves that moment of YES before asking again?

When we're learning, growing, developing our feel and timing and balance, can we reward our slightest try instead of only seeing how far we still have to go? Or where we got it wrong?  

So often I share a video of a lesson with a student and they immediately comment on what they are doing ‘wrong’... skipping over all the good they did.

And what about in our relationships beyond the arena? With our partners, our children, our friends, our colleagues. Can we recognize their tries? Can we celebrate the approximations, the efforts that are moving in the right direction even if they haven't arrived yet?

What would our families feel like if we asked for much, were content with little, and rewarded often?

What would our workplaces look like? Our communities?

This isn't about lowering standards or accepting mediocrity. Just as with our horses, it's about understanding that development happens through encouragement, not through constant judgment. That people, like horses, thrive when their honest efforts are met with recognition and reward.

And perhaps most importantly: what would our relationship with ourselves look like if we practiced this? If we could hold vision for who we're becoming while celebrating who we are right now? If we could ask much of ourselves while being genuinely content with the small steps forward we manage each day?

The same principle that creates willing, confident horses creates willing, confident humans.

Reward often. Not someday when you get it perfect. Not eventually when you're fully developed. Often. Now. Today. For this small try.

The compounding effect of this over time is staggering.

Each good impression builds on the last. Each rewarded try increases confidence. Each session, each interaction, each day that ends with us feeling fresh and successful makes us more willing to offer again tomorrow.

This is what Oliveira means by leaving the horse "still fresh, with a good impression for the next lesson."

We're not just training for today. We're building a foundation for tomorrow, next week, next year. We're creating beings, human and equine, who approach their work and their lives with enthusiasm rather than dread. Who walk into new challenges thinking about possibility rather than survival.

4. THE ART OF KNOWING WHEN

So we understand: ask for much, be content with little, reward often.

But what about when theory meets the messy reality of actual horses, actual bodies, actual moments in the arena.

How do we know when to push and when to release? When does "ask for much" tip over into excessive demand? When does "be content with little" become settling for less than the horse is capable of offering?

This is the art. This is where horsemanship becomes something that can't be fully taught from a book or a video. This is the wisdom that only develops through thousands of hours of feel, of observation, of making mistakes and learning from them.

It starts with reading the horse's state.

Not the state you hope they're in. Not the state they were in yesterday or last week. The state they're in right now, in this moment, in this body.

Are they mentally fresh or saturated? Is their body loose and available or tight and braced? Are they searching with curiosity or defensiveness? Is there try in their eye or anxiety?

A horse who is fresh, loose, curious, that's a horse who can handle more. We can ask for refinement, we can introduce something new, we can work toward that next layer of understanding. The productive challenge that horse is ready for might be significant.

But a horse who is mentally full, physically tired, or emotionally overwhelmed, that's a horse who needs us to scale back our asking. Not abandon our standards, but recognize that today, right now, little is enough. The productive challenge for that horse might be simply maintaining what they already know with softness and willingness.

This is where our ego gets in the way. Because sometimes we arrive at the barn with a plan. We were going to work on that thing. We've been building toward it. We have time set aside for it. And the horse shows up not ready for that thing.

The question becomes: whose plan are we following? Ours, or the one that honors what's actually possible right now?

I'm not talking about letting the horse dictate the session or abandoning all structure. I'm talking about the flexibility to recognize when our predetermined plan doesn't match the horse in front of us. The wisdom to adjust.

Because here's what Oliveira is warning us about: "What value can there be in a new exercise for the horse if the demand is excessive?"

If we push forward with our plan when the horse isn't ready, we might get the movement. We might achieve the thing we set out to do. But what impression are we leaving? What are we teaching in that moment?

We're teaching that their state doesn't matter. That our timeline is more important than their capacity. That they should try to offer even when they're overwhelmed, exhausted, or confused.

And the next time we ask for something? They'll carry that impression with them. They'll be a little less willing, a little more defensive, a little less trusting that we'll listen to what they're telling us.

The art of knowing when requires us to hold our goals lightly enough to respond to what's real.

This means sometimes we work toward something significant, and sometimes we celebrate simply maintaining what's already established. Sometimes we introduce something new, and sometimes we return to something familiar that builds confidence. Sometimes we stay in the arena for a full session, and sometimes we recognize that ten minutes of good work is worth more than thirty minutes of struggle.

The question isn't "Did I accomplish my plan?" The question is "Did I leave the horse still fresh, with a good impression for the next lesson?"

And here's what's remarkable: when we get good at this flexibility, when we develop the feel to know when to push and when to release, we often make faster progress than we would have with rigid adherence to our timeline.

Because the horse who is not overwhelmed, not drilled, not pushed past their capacity, that's a horse who stays mentally available. They stay willing. They keep offering. And that willingness, that mental freshness, that's worth more than any single movement or exercise.

This is how we recognize meaningful progress even when it doesn't match our original vision.

Maybe we came to work on something advanced, but the horse showed us they needed to revisit something foundational. And in that return to basics, we found a softness, an understanding, a quality we'd been missing. That's progress. That's meaningful. Even though it doesn't look like what we planned.

Maybe we were aiming for a particular movement, but what the horse offered was a deeper level of trust, a willingness to try something that scared them, a moment of real partnership. That's progress. That matters. Even though it can't be captured in a video or checked off a training list.

This is the art: seeing what's actually valuable in what the horse is giving us, rather than only valuing what we predetermined we wanted.

It's a kind of flexibility within structure. We have standards, we have direction, we know what we're building. But we hold it all with enough openness to recognize and celebrate the path the horse is actually traveling, which might not be the exact path we mapped out.

When we find this balance, this sweet spot between clear intention and responsive flexibility.. The horse relaxes into the work. They start to trust that we're listening. They become more willing to offer because they know their offers will be met with intelligence, not rigidity.

This creates willing partners rather than resistant ones.

A willing partner is thinking with you, offering ideas, bringing their full selves to the work. They're not just responding to aids, they're participating in a conversation.

A resistant partner is protecting themselves. They're saying no, or offering reluctantly, or complying without truly engaging. They've learned that offering doesn't feel safe, that the demand might always be excessive, that their state doesn't influence what will be asked of them.

And the difference between these two horses? How well we've learned the art of knowing when.

When to push toward more, and when to celebrate what is. When to introduce something new, and when to deepen something familiar. When to work longer, and when to end early. When to insist, and when to release.

This is the dance. This is where horsemanship becomes art rather than mechanics.

5. BEYOND THE ARENA

This wisdom, this delicate balance we cultivate with our horses, it doesn't stay in the arena.

It can't, really. Because once you learn to see this way, once you develop the sensitivity to recognize and reward the smallest try, once you understand the power of asking for much while being content with little, it changes how you see everything.

It changes how we lead.

Whether you're managing a team, guiding a project, mentoring someone in their development, the same patterns emerge. How many times do we set expectations and then measure people against some predetermined timeline? This should be done by now. They should understand this already. We should be further along than this. (There’s that word ‘should’ again - ugh)

But what if we asked for much, held the vision of what's possible, while genuinely celebrating the progress being made each day? What if we rewarded often, recognizing effort and movement in the right direction rather than only seeing the gap between where things are and where we think they should be?

What kind of teams would we build? Ones that are confident in tackling challenges, willing to try new approaches, unafraid of the learning process because they know their efforts will be met with recognition and encouragement.

The same applies to parenting, to teaching, to any relationship where we're supporting someone's growth. People, like horses, thrive when their honest efforts are acknowledged. They grow through encouragement, not through constant judgment. They stay fresh and willing when they leave each interaction with a good impression. They WANT to work for you!

And perhaps most profoundly, it changes how we relate to ourselves.

We are so hard on ourselves, aren't we? We ask for much, that part we're good at. We can see clearly what we should be achieving.

But being content with little? Rewarding our own tries? That's where we struggle.

We dismiss our progress because it's not fast enough, big enough, impressive enough. We focus on everything we haven't done yet rather than acknowledging what we managed today. We push ourselves past the point of freshness, drilling and demanding and wondering why we feel depleted instead of energized by our own growth.

What would change if we applied this wisdom to ourselves?

If we could hold ambitious visions for our lives while genuinely celebrating the small steps we take each day toward those visions? If we could recognize when we need to push and when we need to release? If we could reward ourselves often, not someday when we finally arrive at perfect, but now, for the honest effort we're making?

I think we'd stay fresher. We'd approach our lives and our growth with more willingness, more curiosity, less dread. We'd be kinder to ourselves in the process of becoming.

And in our communities, our families, our relationships with partners and friends, what if we brought this same sensitivity?

What if we could see and celebrate the tries people make, even when they're imperfect? What if we could ask for much in our relationships, hold standards for how we want to treat each other, while being genuinely content with the small moments of connection, understanding, and effort?

What if we rewarded often? Expressed appreciation not just for grand gestures but for daily kindnesses? Recognized effort even when the outcome isn't quite what we hoped?

I think we'd build relationships characterized by willingness rather than resistance. By partnership rather than power struggle. By fresh engagement rather than weary obligation.

This is what I mean when I say this wisdom doesn't stay in the arena. Once you really understand it with horses, you can't help but see its application everywhere.

Because at its heart, this isn't just about training horses. It's about how we approach development itself. How we hold the tension between vision and reality. How we honor the process while moving toward our goals. How we leave every being we interact with, including ourselves, still fresh, with a good impression for the next lesson.

CLOSING

So I come back to this quote, but now with all this context, all these layers of meaning, or me yapping,  that have unfolded from Oliveira's words:

"What value can there be in a new exercise for the horse if the demand is excessive? What end is gained in having obtained the execution of a movement if it is wrongly done, and if the horse is left with the impression of such a lesson? One cannot repeat often enough Beudant's injunction: 'Ask for much, be content with little, and reward often.' In this last, lies the secret to leaving the horse still fresh, with a good impression for the next lesson."

That final line stays with me. The secret to leaving the horse still fresh, with a good impression for the next lesson.

Because isn't that what we're really building? Not just this ride, not just this movement, not just this day's achievement, but something much larger.

We're building a long relationship composed of thousands of impressions. Each ride, each session, each interaction is a deposit into an account that will determine how our horse meets us tomorrow, next week, next year.

Will they walk into the arena with enthusiasm or dread? Will they offer willingly or protect themselves? Will they trust that their tries will be met with reward or fear that only perfection brings release?

The answer to those questions isn't determined by what we accomplish. It's determined by the impressions we leave.

And when we get this right, when we find that delicate balance between ambition and patience, when we master the art of asking for much while being content with little, when we reward often and generously, something beautiful happens.

Both horse and human thrive.

Not just survive, not just comply, not just endure. Thrive.

The horse becomes a willing, confident partner who approaches their work with curiosity and joy. And we become equine people who can hold ambitious visions while staying present to the miracle of small progress. Who can push toward excellence while honoring the timeline of true development.

This is the dance. The delicate, beautiful, sometimes difficult dance between wanting progress and honoring the process. Between having goals and having grace. Between ambition and patience.

And in this dance, when we finally find our rhythm, we discover something the masters have always known: the journey itself, when traveled with wisdom and generosity, is the destination.

Ask for much. Be content with little. Reward often.

And leave every being you touch, including yourself, still fresh, with a good impression for the next lesson.