Field Note: Before Anything Even Happens

I’ve been listening to the book Horse Boy. I’m interested in Rupert Isaacson’s work and, particularly, his ideas on how to support therapy horses.

And the other day, something happened while I was listening that made me stop.

In one scene, Rupert and his wife are trying to give their son a spoonful of medicine. They are already anticipating how he might respond.

And as I listened, I noticed something happening in my own body.

My stomach pulled in.

I was anticipating it too.

And suddenly I thought, There it is.

Before anything had even happened, our bodies were already preparing for what we expected to happen.

I know this moment.

I talk about it with my clients all the time.

A dog has reacted at the door before, so the next time someone knocks, we brace.

A horse has become anxious in a particular situation, so the next time we approach it, our stomach tightens just a little.

When one of our animals has behaved in a way we didn’t expect or understand, we enter the next interaction watching for it to happen again.

We think we are waiting to see what happens.

But our bodies may already be participating in what happens next.

Our breathing changes. Our muscles tighten. Our attention narrows. Our movements become just a little more careful, hesitant, or controlling.

And another nervous system has access to all of that information.

It made me think about presence in a slightly different way.

Presence isn’t only being here now.

It may also mean not arriving at this moment already braced for the last experience to happen again.

This is something I pay particular attention to after working with an animal.

During communication sessions, I often work with animals whose people have come to me because of an unexpected or undesired behavior.

As we explore what may be contributing to the behavior, something begins to change. The animal may shake, yawn, soften, release tension. They may share information that changes our understanding. Sometimes the person feels something change in their own body.

The animal has shifted. Its world is no longer quite the same.

And this is where I invite my clients to meet the animal where it is now.

Swipe the mind clean.

Not of what we know, but of what we expect.

Because the animal may have changed, but if our nervous system is still preparing for the old behavior, we may inadvertently invite the animal right back into it.

Think about the dog at the door.

At the next knock, if I brace for the barking before the dog has even responded, my dog has that information too. My breathing has changed. My body has tightened. My attention is already on the door.

And suddenly we are both back inside a pattern that may have been ready to change.

But here’s the part I love.

We can also help create the conditions for something different to happen.

The next time there is a knock at the door, can I stay present enough to truly watch the dog?

Can I catch my own anticipation before my body begins preparing for what happened last time?

Because if the dog responds differently — even just a little — we get to have a new experience together.

The dog gets to experience the knock differently.

I get to experience the dog differently.

And rather than pulling each other back toward the familiar pattern, we have an opportunity to strengthen the new experience.

This doesn’t mean forgetting what happened. History gives us information. Patterns matter. Safety matters.

But history doesn’t have to pre-write the next interaction.

Because the moment I brace for something, I am no longer simply observing.

I am participating.

So, let's notice.

That tightening of the stomach.

The held breath.

The moment our body begins preparing for something that hasn’t actually happened yet.

And instead of following it all the way into the familiar pattern...

Let’s watch.

What has changed?

How is it unfolding this time?