A Free Horse, No Waves, and Three Connections I Wasn't Looking For

I was walking down the beach in Malpais, Costa Rica, surfboard under my arm, when I saw a horse standing alone near the water.

Not tied up. Not behind a fence. Not next to a handler. Just standing there. A domesticated horse that had somehow gotten out.

I stopped.

A year ago, I think I would have paused, noted it, smiled, and then continued on. After all, I had an appointment with some waves. But something about this year has been slowing me down. Softening the edges. Making me more willing to be with what’s in front of me instead of heading toward what’s next.

So, I stood about ten feet away and put my board down. I talked to the horse. Gently. I introduced myself. I asked its name.

And then the horse made a choice. It walked over to me.

We spent about five to ten minutes together. Just being there. No agenda. No performance. Two living things sharing a stretch of beach in the early morning light. To me, it felt magical.

I told my friend Chris Lombard about this. Chris is a friend and horseman in Maine who I’ve been learning from throughout this adventure. We sat around a fire last fall and talked about what horses teach us about presence, vulnerability, and leading with love.¹ So, when I sent him a voice message about the beach horse, I knew he’d feel it.

He called the encounter sacred. Chris said:

“It’s extremely rare to meet a horse out in the world that is free. Actually outside of any boundaries or away from any humans or away from any captivity.”

He told me that even working with horses for a living, he’s almost never seen it. A horse with true freedom.

That word landed for me. Free. Not escaped. Not lost. Free to be wherever it wanted. And in that freedom, it chose to come closer. To engage with me.

Chris pointed out something I hadn’t fully considered. That walking up and introducing myself, talking in a soft voice, asking the horse its name, all of that was what he called a universal language of presence. Human words that carry feeling, rhythm, pictures. Not just for me, but for the horse too. A way of saying hello that goes deeper than species.

I’ve been thinking about what made that moment possible. Part of it is this place. Costa Rica grounds me in a way that’s hard to explain. The pace is different. The morning air does something to my nervous system. The ocean sets a rhythm that my body seems to trust.

But I also think it’s the work I’ve been doing this year. The listening. The sitting with discomfort. The practicing of presence that Chris and his horses have been teaching me. I don’t think I had the calm or the energy a year ago to invite that horse in. Something has shifted.

After about 10 minutes, I said goodbye, grabbed my board, and headed in to the water.

I didn’t catch a single wave.

The surf was low. I spent over an hour in the water and never caught a wave. But I had a great conversation with Rich, a guy from the UK I met last year. We’re building a friendship there, one surf session at a time. We floated, talked, watched other surfers, felt the warm water and the sun.

I’ve reached a point with surfing where not catching waves doesn’t feel like failure. It feels like I finally understand what surfing is actually about. The ocean. The ease. The warmth. Starting the day in a place that asks nothing of you except that you show up. I think I’ve moved past the competition side into something more like the spiritual side of it.

Walking back on the beach, I met a Canadian family. They had kids and were looking for a good spot to set up. I said, come with me, I’ll show you a spot where you’re protected from the waves. I introduced them to the Malpais tidal pools.

James and I got to talking. I suggested we grab coffee. He said yes. We connected the next day and had a great conversation. Just like that. A new friend.

It’s the same pattern I saw when I met Mason² down in Florida on our road trip south. When you’re open, when you’re not chasing something, friendships just form. It’s pretty cool.

All of this happened in a single morning.

A horse I didn’t plan to meet. A surf session where I didn’t catch a single wave but had a great conversation. A family I helped find a tidal pool. Three connections. One with a horse. One deepened. One brand new. None of them on a to-do list.

Chris said something else in his message that I keep coming back to. He talked about how this year feels like a shift. A momentum toward something more aligned with our hearts. He said he felt it even before hearing about the Year of the Fire Horse. That after so much challenge in recent years, there’s a forward pull into something that feels more coherent.

He said:

“I love the idea of just all supporting each other while we’re going through it. It’s a good time to be alive.”

I feel that too. Even from a beach in Costa Rica, I can feel the energy of the people doing this work alongside me. Chris in Maine with his horses. The men I sat with around fires on the road trip. The new friends I haven’t met yet. All of us figuring out what it looks like to lead from the heart instead of from fear.

That morning on the beach, I wasn’t trying to do anything. I was just present. And what showed up was more than I could have planned.

Maybe that’s the lesson I keep learning. That presence is the doorway. Not to getting what you want, but to receiving what’s already there.

If this one stirred something, I’d love to hear about it. And if you know someone who might need a reminder that slowing down can open things up, please share it with them.

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2. https://adventure.heart-strong.org/p/what-happens-when-you-give-up-a-table