Year of the Horse
My childhood was spent in Georgia, and for most of it, every Sunday meant a trip to Chukkar Farm in Alpharetta with Dad.
We’d leave our house in Grant Park and I’d spend the next hour watching the road pass by through the car window as we cut through the countryside. I loved seeing long stretches of trees, open land, and the smallest of towns that made me wonder if anyone actually still lived in them. When I began to hear the crunch of our tires above gravel and the sound of a mallet smacking against the polo ball, I knew we were there.
My father, a man of many unique hobbies, played polo there whenever he could. Watching him play was watching someone fully occupied. Polo is such a unique sport, in that it demands the awareness of another living thing, running at full speed, responding to you in real time. Even as a kid, I could see that the horse wasn’t an accessory to the game. It was actually the whole point.
Those Sundays were less about doing something together and much more about going home with different experiences from the same special environment. I’d wander, play in the creeks, walk amongst the tees, watch matches, sit quietly in the barn, and sometimes ride. There was no pressure to be entertained, and the farm set its own pace, which I naturally loved adjusting to.
Over time, horseback riding became something I leaned on to recalibrate. The first thing that I was taught about horses was that they respond to your energy. If you’re tense, they know. If you’re unfocused, they react. If you’re anxious, they will reflect it. I’ve always thought it was special how these huge, powerful animals learn to trust you just as much as you learn to trust them. Riding, and being around horses in general at a young age, taught me how to regulate myself without anyone explaining to me that’s what I was doing. A gift that has helped me in so many other aspects of life.
When I left Georgia, Polo Sundays stopped happening, but I’ve made an effort to replicate the feeling I got from them as often as I can because it truly resets something in me every time. I have gone on trail rides or taken a lesson while traveling and when I’m closer to home in Connecticut. Some with my dad, and some alone, but equally as rewarding.
In Chinese tradition, the Horse is often described as independent and resilient. What resonates most with me is its practicality. Horses move when they need to move. They stop when they need to stop. There’s no excess interpretation. Just forward motion built on trust, repetition, and awareness.
2026 is all about taking that approach with me.
To return to the types of environments that have always grounded me.
To recognize that some of the most formative experiences (like driving through Georgia back roads and ending up at a polo field every Sunday) don’t announce their importance while they’re happening.
To trust my intuition.
To remember that moving forward while pivoting along the way is all part of the journey of my life.
