Riding The Bull of Resilience: A Personal Metaphor for Embracing Curiosity, Support, and the Cycles of Resilient Change.

" Ever since I was a child, I dreamed of flying—of taking to the skies and mastering the art of navigating something powerful and unpredictable. In the late 1970s, while working at a fixed-base operator (FBO) at Flying Cloud Airport in Eden Prairie, Minnesota, I took my first flying lessons. But the economic effects of the Vietnam War and rapid technological changes made the cost of pursuing that dream prohibitive. Determined to find another path, I made the conscious decision to join the Army Reserves with the ultimate goal of becoming a Warrant Officer and attending flight school.

At 19, while stationed at Ft. Eustis, Virginia, my curiosity was unexpectedly drawn in a different direction: bull riding. Much like flying, it was a test of courage, precision, and adaptability—a challenge that demanded both physical and mental preparation. Over several weekends of watching the rides, I came to realize that stepping into the chute wasn’t just about strength. It was a dance of balance, teamwork, and trust—both in yourself and in the people who helped you prepare for the ride ahead.

It all starts in the bull pen, a space where awareness awakens. The bull, a creature of pure energy and resistance, is guided into the chute, its powerful body pressing against the metal walls in defiance. The moment I climbed onto the bull’s back for the first time, it leaned into the wall, making it impossible for me to mount. It took a team to push the bull back, creating the space I needed to get into position. This was my first lesson in resilience: no matter how strong or determined you are, facing the challenge often requires others to help you find your footing.

Sitting on the bull, time seemed to slow as preparation took over. My non-dominant hand worked the rosin into the rope, warming it until it became sticky like glue. My non-dominant hand pressed into the rope, melding with the resin, creating the connection I needed to anchor myself. Every motion had purpose—tying the tail rope, adjusting my grip, and centering my weight. Preparation didn’t begin in that moment, though. It had started weeks earlier with practice: learning to rake a sawhorse, timing the movement of my arms and legs, and building the muscle memory I’d need when the real challenge arrived.

But preparation can only take you so far. As the gate swung open, awareness and preparation gave way to action. The bull erupted into the arena like a living storm, its muscles rippling beneath me as it bucked and twisted. There was no time to think, only to react. My non-dominant hand gripped the rope tightly, while my dominant hand moved instinctively, countering the bull’s every roll and lurch. It wasn’t about overpowering the bull but about flowing with it, finding the rhythm in the chaos.

In those seconds—an eternity and a heartbeat—I was fully present. There was no fear, no past, no future, only the raw connection between me and the bull. The ride wasn’t about conquering the beast but discovering how to exist within its wild energy. Curiosity fueled this moment. I wasn’t asking, Will I stay on? Instead, I was wondering, How can I adapt to this next movement? What can I learn from this ride, no matter how it ends?

Eventually, the ride did end. Whether I stayed on for eight seconds or was thrown into the dirt, integration began the moment my body hit the ground. The world came rushing back—the roar of those watching, the thud of hooves, and my urgent need to get out of the arena. But even here, I couldn’t do it alone. The rodeo clown stepped in, distracting the bull and creating the space I needed to scramble to my feet and run to safety. This was my second lesson in teamwork: resilience doesn’t end when the ride is over. It often takes others to help you transition, to guide you from chaos to reflection.

At the fence, catching my breath, I would take stock. Was I injured? What went well? What could I improve next time? Pride mixed with humility as I realized that success and failure existed simultaneously. Staying on the bull wasn’t the only measure of accomplishment; the ride itself, and what I learned from it, were just as important. And then came the decision: would I get on the next bull? Sore muscles and lingering doubt battled with curiosity and determination. The answer was always the same. Yes. I would ride again.

Curiosity wove through every stage of this experience:

In awareness, it drove me to try something extraordinary.

In preparation, it kept me engaged, asking, What else can I learn? How can I improve?

In action, it helped me stay present, adapting to the bull’s movements with a sense of wonder rather than fear.

In integration, it pushed me to reflect not just on what went wrong but on how I could grow.

Even my decision to stop riding bulls stemmed from curiosity. I asked myself if I could still ride safely, and when the answer became no, I let go—not in defeat but in understanding. The tail rope, which I never had to pull during a ride, became a metaphor for this choice: knowing when to release, trusting that stepping away can be as courageous as holding on.

Bull riding taught me that resilience isn’t just about strength or endurance. It’s about connection— to God, yourself, your purpose, others, and the moment. It’s about curiosity, the force that turns challenges into opportunities for growth. And it’s about knowing that no matter how wild the ride, there will always be a team—friends, coaches, mentors, or even rodeo clowns—to help you prepare, endure, and ultimately step safely off the field of play.

In life, much like in bull riding, success isn’t measured solely by staying on the bull. True success lies in finding the courage to climb on despite the fear, the grace to learn from every ride—whether smooth or chaotic—and the wisdom to know when it’s time to let go. Only then can we fully embrace life’s experiences and live in alignment with our deepest purpose.

What challenge in your life feels like stepping into the chute with a restless bull, and how can you prepare, adapt, and learn to embrace the ride?" - Shreve Gould