Horse Your Sabbatical Going?

Clearly, the native horse holds a special place in the Icelandic heart. Smaller than hulking workhorses found elsewhere in the world–but most definitely not a pony, as the locals make sure to mention–the long-haired Icelandic breed has the agility and strength to maneuver skillfully through the rugged volcanic backcountry. Fast, friendly, and fearless, the animals usually live a robust 25-30 years. Careful genetic cultivation ensures that the stock stays strong too: Icelandic horses can leave the island, but cannot return once they’ve departed. And, crucially, no other horses can enter.¹  

Their export actually makes good business for some. Partly because the horses have such a distinctive gait–forgive my ignorance, aficionados, but I’m told they can walk in five different fashions–an entire ranch can live for a year off the sale of one horse, pulling in 200K-500K per beast. Taken as a group, the animals prove precious to the pocketbook as well as to the character of the nation.

Icelanders keep their prized animals so healthy, in part, by giving them time off. Every five years, the horses receive a full twelve months to roam the countryside without work or other human-related duties. They hang in herds or in small groups, totally free to explore as their horsey hearts choose. As Óle, a tour guide on my recent Golden Circle trip explained, “A horse that’s been inside too long is like a machine with no will of its own. The time of freedom keeps the wild in them fresh. That way, they’re never scared and have lots of energy for going to the mountains.”

I so wish that everyone got to experience this kind of openness in their work lives. A field refreshes after lying fallow. Even God rested after six days of creation. In theory, summer “vacation” provides a mini-sabbatical each year for students.² Longer days and warmer temperatures call kids to spend more time outside. More and more, though, performance programs and college-prep or wage-earning duties encroach on that summer freedom. Many districts or individual academies promote the notion of extending the school year. Even student-athletes who “play” sports feel pressure to go full-on, all year round. The creativity we try to cultivate in our kids draws from reservoirs only refilled by rest. We need to feed rather than fear the wild within.

The people of Iceland have learned from their horses: go too hard and we grind ourselves down. Get some space and we find ourselves anew. Our mainstream pulls strongly toward a culture of more: more work, more consumption, more straight-to-the-goal accomplishment. I know I’m fortunate to have the chance for some self-directed wandering. In this open space of not-doing, my work taps into a revitalizing wild.

1 In fact, the only animals allowed for import are cats and dogs. And humans.

If we’re not given the “luxury” of a sabbatical, how do we go about creating the mental and emotional space we need for renewal? How do we prevent turning our kids or ourselves into machines?