A cinch isn’t meant to hang on a wall. It’s not made to stay clean. A good cinch earns its keep one ride at a time. It gathers sweat and comes home smelling of horses. After enough miles, it loses its newness and takes on the look of tack that’s done exactly what it was built to do.
I’ve come to think that success is like that cinch. When I published The ABCs of Trail Riding and Horse Camping, I had ideas about what success as an author might look like. I imagined author signings and lots of book sales. Those things still matter, and I’m not going to pretend that they aren’t important. Publishing a book is a business, and businesses need customers.
What Success Looks Like
But along the way, I began to realize that the numbers alone weren’t the part that meant the most. What matters more is hearing one horse person recommend the book to another.
Sometimes I’ll see a conversation online where someone asks a question about trail riding or camping with horses. Before I can answer, another person will mention The ABCs. They’ll say that the book helped them prepare for their first camping trip and gave them the confidence to venture farther from home.
Those comments mean more to me than a sales report ever could. A report tells me that someone bought a book, but a recommendation tells me that they used it. It tells me that something I learned through years of mistakes, a lot of trail miles, and time spent around good horsemen was useful to someone else.
I’ve found the same thing with the cinch looms. I make and sell the looms and wrote the book that helps people learn to weave their own mohair cinches. Of course, I appreciate every order that comes through the door. Each one helps buy hay and allows me to continue doing this work.
From an Empty Loom to a Useful Cinch
But the best part comes when someone sends me a photograph of a cinch they made. Sometimes it’s a first attempt and a bit rough. Without fail, they point out every flaw before I say anything because we are remarkably good at seeing the tiny imperfections in our own work. (If I write another cinch book, I’ll have to remember to include photos of my first cinches, but that’s a different story.)
What I see in their work is something very different. I see someone start with an empty loom, some cordage, and a handful of hardware, then turn those simple materials into a useful piece of equipment. I see the satisfaction that comes from learning a skill instead of simply buying another piece of tack. Most of all, I see a cinch ready to earn its keep on a horse or mule.
That last part matters. A cinch belongs on the trail, not hanging on a wall. It should cross creeks, travel mountain miles, and spend nights hanging from a saddle in camp. With any luck, years of honest use will fade the cordage and wear it smooth. That’s success.
Recognition and Success Aren’t the Same
I think many of us begin with conventional ideas about accomplishment. We imagine ribbons and recognition, or perhaps seeing our name printed somewhere important. There’s nothing wrong with those things. Recognition for good work feels good. But recognition and success are not always the same thing.
My mentor Ed Haefliger received little public recognition, but he embodied success. He shared what he knew, helped people become better horsemen, and made them more capable than they had been before meeting him. Awards and applause can’t measure that influence. You see it in the people he helped and the knowledge they carry forward.
The Things That Are Harder to Count
The older I get, the more I understand that, and the less interested I am in whether something looks impressive. I want to know whether it was useful. Did the ABCs give a rider enough confidence to take that first overnight trip? Did a clinic help someone notice a bad tire before it failed? Did a cinch fit a mule that had always been difficult to fit? Did something I shared make the journey a little safer or more enjoyable?
Those are harder things to count, and they don’t always show up in sales totals or statistics. Sometimes they arrive as a photo sent late at night, a comment from a person I’ve never met, and sometimes they come from someone walking up after a clinic and saying, “I never understood that until today.”
Made to Be Used
I’m grateful when someone buys one of my books, orders a loom, or attends a clinic, but that’s just the beginning. The real reward is learning where that book went, what that loom helped create, or what someone did differently after the clinic was over.
For me, success isn’t seeing my work displayed somewhere important. It’s seeing it used. It’s a dog-eared copy of The ABCs riding in a truck. It’s a handwoven cinch covered in horsehair. It’s one person telling another, “This helped me. I think it might help you too.” That’s enough.
For more of my thoughts on trail riding and camping with livestock, along with the largest guide to horse trails and camps in the United States, visit TrailMeister.com.