As summer rodeo season winds down, I find myself reflecting on the concept of time. I have spent the last several months clocking it, recording it, encouraging my daughter to improve it, cursing it and wishing there were more of it in my days. Last night at the rodeo, I found myself trying to stop it just briefly because ultimately it’s moments, not seconds that matter.
I held my breath and watched my daughter blast through the shoot chasing a steer in the daubing event and she got a no time in front of a crowded arena. When she came back home through the gate, the smile on her face showed me that despite getting a no time, she still managed to have the best time.
Time, you see, is embedded in rodeo. Can you stay on for eight seconds? Can you get the steer in less than 30 seconds? Can you shave a nanosecond off your barrel time? It’s all about how fast you can do something and not just do it but do it well. In those quick seconds, there are moments where time stands still.
Sometimes having the best time has nothing to do with clocks or timers. Sometimes improving your time has more to do with mood than minutes. Sometimes, it’s important to remember that you don’t need a stopwatch to stop time at all. Those moments where time stands still are created personally and are the spaces where memories are made.
Last night, what looked like a loss to those sitting in the crowd and the announcer in the crow’s nest was actually a win for my daughter that they couldn’t possibly know. Unbeknownst to even the onlookers, it was my daughter’s first attempt at a bigger rodeo. The win for her was hearing the cheers and feeling the electricity for attempting to do better in her rodeo pursuits.
After years of gymkhana, she got a chance to feel a bigger stage. What they couldn’t see was the smile on her face when she rode her horse back through the gate, pride from one upturned corner of her mouth to the other.
It’s this still, introspective space that creates a place to hang memories, like a gallery wall in your soul. I have been lucky enough to decorate mine with moments like last night.
It’s easy to forget how hard you worked to get to where you are. It’s easy to take it hard on yourself when you fall short of an intended time or even worse, hear the objection of the buzzer and the announcer informing everyone within earshot that, “unfortunately you got a no time.” It’s easy to get swept up in the fastness of rodeo and to forget that there is also time for tipping your hat to pause and look at what you have achieved. It takes mental, physical and emotional control to ride a 1,200-pound animal at insane speeds through the dirt.
My daughter and the kids she rides with work hard, really hard. They are dedicated and sometimes too critical of themselves over tenths of seconds. Last night was a good lesson for Reese that it’s how you look at a situation that determines its outcome. She let the cheers of the crowd drown out the blare of the buzzer as she smiled on her way back through the gate.
You can’t stop the hands of time more so than the stopwatch in rodeo but you can take moments and let the lesson be the measure of what matters. Whether you are in the saddle or the bleacher seat you can take a no time and turn it into the time of your life if you let yourself.
Next time you are at a rodeo, or see one of our local kids clomping through a store in their boots and spurs, take a moment yourself to stop and cheer on these kids who work so hard. A little acknowledgment and admiration go a long way in the arena and out.
Jenny Johnston is a fourth-generation Durango local, part-time rodeo announcer and full-time wrangler to two lil’ buckaroos.
