What's My Motivation?

Playing with Smokey Joe


There’s an old joke in theatre circles. Actors always analyze the parts they play, questioning why their characters would or wouldn’t behave in certain ways. What motivates the character? So, during a rehearsal, the director asks the actor to walk across the stage, and the actor responds “What’s my motivation?” Without skipping a beat, the director says, “Your paycheck.”

Of course, I was never paid to be on stage while I was in college. No financial incentive there. And now, many years later, I find myself in metaphoric director’s shoes, asking my horses for certain behaviors. I can almost hear them ask, “What’s my motivation -- and where’s the paycheck?”

In the past eight years, I’ve abandoned the idea of controlling my horses. Control is a great illusion. In a physical contest, my horses will win – hooves down -- unless I bully my way through our encounters. I’m not interested in bullying. I’ve discovered that collaboration is really a better goal. I’d rather accomplish things together, as partners and friends, than have to pretend I’m stronger or in charge. I ask rather than demand. It seems to work better for us.

Motivation factors into the collaborative dance. Sure I can ask for a behavior, but if it doesn’t make sense to the horse – and if I’m not clear about what I want – why should my horse want to cooperate? What’s his motivation?

I needed to break behaviors down into smaller increments, layering new information onto the already learned behavior. It comes down to this:

Whatever I’m asking has to make sense to my horse. An intelligent being questions the reasons behind any request. Horses are really no different than most humans in this way. There has to be some purpose or meaning involved, other than because I said. Common sense – horse sense -- requires me to consider what the horse understands as a reasonable request. The next step for me is to ask for a simple behavior that, when achieved, results in a reward. Rewards make sense. Simple behaviors transform over time into more complex skill sets, all based on motivation and paycheck.

Enter the clicker and a bag full of horse treats. Horses eat approximately 75 % of their waking day, so food is a logical and inviting “paycheck” -- not to be mistaken for a bribe. A bribe is something you dangle in front of someone before a behavior to coax the person (or horse) into doing what you ask. A reward comes after, when the behavior has been satisfactorily presented.

In truth, food equals motivation – but it’s not the only motivation. My horses now see the clicker and treat pouch and know we’re going to play. The interaction has become a game, less about eating and more about connecting and figuring out puzzles together. It’s fun, and horses love to have fun! Now there’s a great motivating factor!!

And what does the clicker do for me? It requires me to focus on exactly what I’m asking. If my horse doesn’t understand what I’m asking, I have to adjust and communicate more clearly – asking for less or simply asking for something differently. If I’m not clear, how can I expect my horse to understand? After all, we don’t exactly speak the same language.

So, the clicker trains me, too. When I’ve asked clearly and clearly see the desired behavior, the click isn’t just for my horse, it’s for me, too. It says, “I got it right! Yea for me!!”

And Yea for all of us who endeavor to bridge the communication gap in positive ways! What’s the motivation? The paycheck? At the end of the day, I think my paycheck is mutual love and friendship.

Visitation of the Muse

Visitation of the Muse

The Muse made her presence known
at a little hour of the morning.
2:32 A.M.

A lightning flash of rapid fire inspiration.
She shot at me random strands of poetry …
She sparked vivid images of beaded art
and profoundly shaped figures in clay…
She frantically chanted fragments of the opening lines
of a novel that I have yet to birth…

And there, in the groggy fog
of the morning’s little hour,
I rolled the pillow over my head
and told the Muse to shut up.

Nora Place Morbeck
April 22, 2011

Stalled -- Insights from a Self-Coaching Moment

George ~ outside on a sunny day, 2010

Stalled

I spend a good part of each day with horses. Blended with barn chores are moments of opportunity to observe, reflect, learn and grow ~ those blessed self-coaching experiences that re-shape my understanding and perspective.

George is a young Quarter Horse stallion, and like many stallions, he lives a life of confinement. He doesn’t have a pasture to share with a harem of mares, so he lives his life in a stall with only brief excursions into a larger environment. It’s a lonely existence, and my heart aches for this horse, who is not mine and over whom I have little decision-making ability.

I let him out of his stall as weather and timing permit, and in the past his usual response has been a burst of enthusiasm. He runs in circles, bucks, and leaps into the air with the sheer exuberance of release.

Yesterday, though, presented a far different scenario. I opened George’s stall door, and he simply stood and looked at me, unwilling to leave the confines of his stall. Perplexed, I called to him ~ then tapped on the side of his stall ~ then offered him feed pellets ~ then waited patiently for him to make a decision to come out. All to no avail.

In that moment of puzzlement, it dawned on me that I’d stepped into a coaching moment.

What, I reflected, is my “stall” and what reasons do I have for being so unwilling to leave it? What is the invisible barrier that I refuse to cross? How does being “stalled” serve me?

The stall isn’t, after all, a very roomy or comfortable place, so I hesitate to refer to it as a “comfort zone” ~ more like a “discomfort zone.” I know every inch of the stall. It's dull and uninspiring and I don’t really want to be stalled in the first place, in any sense of the word. And, of course, there’s a much bigger space just waiting for my emergence. So, what’s keeping me confined and how do I get out?

The first answer is usually the clearest, and my first heart response was this: What keeps me stalled is self-limiting beliefs, perpetuated by the little voice of self doubt whispering in the back of my head. External limits and expectations ~ those I allow to be placed on me by others ~ serve to give the self-doubt a louder voice, which blocks me and keeps me from stepping into something bigger and better.

My Truth is that the stall door is open. The barrier is an illusion.

I slipped a halter over George’s head and walked a few steps out of the stall. He dug in his feet and refused to budge.

How many times do I dig in my heels to my own detriment? I resist the pull into a different set of circumstances. What is the force that could propel me forward?

I offered George love and understanding and encouragement, acknowledging his fear and resistance. I applied gentle pressure, allowing him to take his time to cross the threshold.

I realize that I’m not on anyone else’s time schedule. I love, understand and encourage myself. I apply gentle pressure and make choices that feel right for me in my own time. Allow the experience to expand, to unfold and to reveal itself with greater clarity in its own time.

George stepped out of his stall and transitioned into an open space.

I step out. I transition into whatever open space is next for me...

Meg with Eva

Meg with Eva

Because she needed
to lose the memories
to make a clean start …

Because of the instinct
to get out of her own way,
to trust Fate
to become something Other …

Because nothing was hers
to cling to ~ not really…

Except the hair and the ponies
and the intensity of the Mom-bond.

She chose to fly ~
not away from, but toward.
With the herd gathered
and a child in each hand,
she leapt forward into the Void.

And she left the hair behind.

Nora Place Morbeck
10/16/2010

A Bonfire of Procrastination: Apologia for Clutter

Where to start?...
and how?...
and why?...
What is my motivation?
What is the purpose?

To tidy after the woefully untidy?
To glower in resentment
amongst heaps created
by the oblivious and unconcerned?
To grudgingly un-clutter
what no woman has un-cluttered before?

I live in a world of possibilities.
What are my options?

I could throw a Pity Party for one,
a celebration of sulky procrastination.

I could, in a fit of dissociation,
deny the very existence
of the clutter.

I could, better yet,
touch a match to all of it –
howl and dance naked in reckless abandon
like a Pictish blue warrior –
while sparks leap toward the sky.
Sacrifice the clutter to the
purification of flame!
Make such a fiery end to procrastination
as to be the glorious inspiration
to all other Domestic Goddesses!!

Or …
I could just suck it up and clean.

Nora Place Morbeck
10/16/2010

Nose to Nose with Smokey Joe

Getting Out of the Way of Our Horses

Photo taken Summer 2005: A treasured cozy moment with Tansy.

Her son, Taran, is beside her.

Last summer, Shannon Knapp from Horse Sense of the Carolinas sent an e-mail question to dozens of practitioners in the Equine Guided/Assisted Learning community. It was one of those “food for thought” inquiries, which I always appreciate. Essentially, it was this: Should we be using our personal horses for this work?

It’s a good question. After all, we’re attached to our own horses in different ways than we might be to those with whom we simply work. We have a history with our horses. We know their personalities and their stories, as we would members of our own human families. Intentionally or not, we may allow our relationships with them to get in the way of our work with clients. Our expectations may interfere with the learning and growth process.

With regard to clients, we’re reminded by our teachers to “allow” people to fully experience sessions with horse partners. We’re encouraged to “get out of the way” of our clients. Let sessions unfold without undue interference. I value these words of wisdom and carry them in my heart as I step into the circle of each client/horse interaction.

I would add to this wisdom that we also need to get out of the way of our horses. When we project expectations, judgments, personal agendas and biases onto them, we hinder the process. We begin to engage in prediction of outcome. We get in the way.

I must admit that, at times, I’ve made assumptions about what one of my horses might do during a session, only to be amazed and humbled by a completely different response. These experiences challenged me to reevaluate my attitudes, to reconsider the limitations I place on the horses in my herd.

My mare, Tansy, is a perfect example of misplaced expectations. In the five years I’ve known this highly sensitive mare, we’ve come to an understanding. She is not a “people person.” She isn’t rude or aggressive. She simply isn’t interested in cozying up to people. While I was initially put off by her standoffishness, I’ve come to recognize that she’s simply not an overly affectionate being. Tansy is content to look at me across the pasture without any compulsion to approach me or even be approached by me. She is who she is. I accept her.

But, when I first put her in the round pen with a coaching client, I was dumbfounded to discover that her responses were completely contrary to my expectations. She was approachable, she allowed the client to touch her without any indication of fear or distrust, and she stood patiently as the client released tears of frustration related to an event in her life. Throughout the session, Tansy was fully present and engaged.

I had to take a few seconds to collect myself. “Who is this mare?” I’d never seen anything like this from Tansy! With a little effort, I checked my attitude. I reminded myself to let go, to just go with the flow. By doing so, the experience unfolded in profound ways for the client.

Within the circle of partnership, Tansy shed her reservations and embraced the moment with openness and compassion. In the process, she allowed me to connect with a part of her that I’d never experienced. The client came away from her session with valuable insights, and I walked away with an entirely new, unexpected understanding of my horse.

Of course, I never said anything to my client about this revelation. Her session with Tansy wasn’t about me. Nonetheless, I was both astounded and gratified by what I’d learned.

Recalling the session, I sometimes think about the “what ifs.” What if I hadn’t checked my attitude? What if I’d allowed my own expectations about my horse to creep into the session? How would that have impacted the client’s experience? By projecting limitations ~ thereby getting in Tansy’s way ~ I would’ve also gotten in the way of the client and her learning opportunity.

The original question was: Should we be using our personal horses for this work? I think the answer lies in our ability to answer the next “food for thought” questions: If we work with clients and horses from our own herds, are we able to release our biases? Are we willing to step back and go with the flow when our horses respond in ways that we perceive are out of character? What can we do internally to create and hold space when we’re caught off guard by unexpected responses?

I believe these self-inquiries represent some of the challenges we face, but I don’t think they’re insurmountable obstacles. Those of us who share our horse companions with clients simply have to go one step further than practitioners who don’t. We release our judgments about clients and the process and we let go of our expectations of who we assume our horses are.

Tansy’s responses demonstrate that I really can’t predict what will happen in the circle of partnership. So, I integrate what I’ve learned from experience. Let go, embrace the mystery and get out of her way.