Photo courtesy of Chelsea Canedy.
What does it really mean to build a life around horses? Not just a career, not just a hobby, but a life—one that’s messy, beautiful, and at times, unraveling under the weight of its own intensity.
In Finding Purpose: A Life Managing the Passion, Compulsion, and Borderline Addiction Called “Horses”, debut author, clinician, and trainer Chelsea Canedy shares a deeply personal story of the journey that brought her to horses—and kept her there. With unflinching honesty and hard-won clarity, she invites readers into the quiet, often uncomfortable process of self-discovery that underpins a high-level equestrian career. Through detours in social work, battles with burnout, and the pressure of performance, Chelsea returns—again and again—to the grounding force of the horse.
More than a memoir, Finding Purpose is a meditation on how we learn, evolve, and show up for the things that matter most. Drawing from her background in psychology, her years of mindfulness practice, and her extensive work in equine behavior and training, Chelsea bridges the personal with the universal. This is a book for equestrians, yes—but also for anyone navigating the balance between passion and peace.
As Caroline Culbertson puts it, “Finding Purpose is an unflinchingly honest look back at the making of a spectacular horsewoman… Through Chelsea’s story, the reader will be gifted with the lessons and perspective of a hard-won mindset of growth, embracing discomfort, and finding peace in the journey of purpose and identity.”
We’re honored to share the following exclusive excerpt from Finding Purpose, available now from Trafalgar Square Books!
By that point I had a long-running internal story that told me I was always being held back because I could never afford a nice enough horse to be truly competitive. And from time to time, in moments like the one with the O’Connors’ trainer, this narrative reared its ugly head. I was sure that if I had only been given the same opportunities other young riders who had moved up the ranks had, I would have
“made it” already. Now, I began telling myself, I was simply too old to be singled out in such a way. For me, I was sure, the opportunity was gone. The whole situation with this clinician choosing a younger Pony Club member over me served to solidify my belief that I was on the “outside”—I was never going to make it and never going to be good enough.
In the grips of that story, I could not find a way to be happy for anyone who received the opportunities that I so deeply wanted. I was in a vicious cycle of jealousy, isolation, and false bravado, leading nowhere useful. I could only feel sorry for myself. The chip on my shoulder grew along with my neediness, and I’m sure it was palpable from the outside. Today, I can definitely sense it in others within whom I recognize my old tendencies. It is not an attractive quality. And it does not make you want to go out of your way to help or befriend that person.
I look back now, and I can see so many missed opportunities, like the opportunity to learn from and connect with other human beings in a genuine way, and the opportunity to truly appreciate what horses do for people and how our love for them connects us. I was so desperate to be part of some imagined elite club whose approval I was sure would mean I was “good enough” and that I would “make it” that I wasn’t open to other possibilities or directions. I thought that riding at the Olympic level was the only end game that meant anything because it would prove that I was better than all the other
riders who never reached that level. But instead of honing the skills I had and feeling grateful for the horses I could ride, I spent all my time thinking about the things I didn’t have. I lived in a state of lack. A scarcity mindset. I thought that working harder and pushing through would improve the situation I perceived to be so poor, but all it did was lead to burnout. I was exhausted and frustrated and couldn’t see the gift that was the horses who were right in front of me. I could not see the opportunity these “imperfect” beings afforded me to learn and understand others in different ways. As a rider, and as a human, I wasn’t ready for that lesson yet. I had to sink lower, hit my rock bottom, before I could figure out a new way to be with myself, with other people, and perhaps most importantly, with horses.
I was in my early twenties when my life and my negative mindset started to feel unsustainable as it was. There was no joy. All I did was drive relentlessly toward a seemingly unattainable goal—one that I
had voiced out loud to so many people in my life that turning back from it felt like it would be just another failure, like my recent divorce. I didn’t know what to do or which way to turn. All I knew was that I was unhappy in my life with horses, and for so long, horses had been my saving grace and place of peace.
Sometimes, when the path you are on feels like a one-way ride, you can’t even imagine that other paths might exist. So you soldier on, with blinders in place, and you wonder what the point of each day’s struggle toward a goal is when you’re never going to be good enough to reach it.
Looking back, it’s tempting to see that chunk of my twenties as a waste of time and energy, and to kick myself for all the missed opportunities and for what I can see was a lot of wallowing in self-pity. But that period was part of my path. We all have hills and valleys we need to walk over and through. It’s cliche, I know, but they are what shape us. They apply the necessary pressure to create change. Without discomfort from a struggle up or a fall down, there’s no real impetus to step in a different direction.
I think there are four quadrants that people and horses fit into when it comes to relating to pressure and change: The first people and horses have a high tolerance for discomfort and resist change, even though another choice or path might make them happier. They might be called “stubborn” or “close-minded.” I fell into this quadrant.
The next people and horses have almost no tolerance for discomfort, and yet they still resist change. They, however, do so out of fear of what might happen when they try something new. They get stuck easily, but they don’t seek another path, so anxiety and frustration grow as they circle the same endless drain.
Then there are those people and horses with a low tolerance for discomfort and a high desire for change. They look for the path of least resistance. They may end up taking a path that’s easier because it feels safe and non-threatening, but they may never realize their full potential because they are too afraid to fail.
Lastly, there are those with a high tolerance for discomfort and a high desire for change. They don’t mind a bit of pressure. They know that all good things come with some discomfort,
but they don’t fight growth. They seek it. They want to understand things in different ways, even when it feels like a harder path than the other options in front of them. They know what lies at the other end might just be worth it.
