On Expertise: A Lesson from Iceland
I fell in love with what sounded like the trip of a lifetime, riding Icelandic horses for 9 days through the remote eastern section of Iceland, known only to sheepherders and their flocks. The level of riding required to do the trip was described as “Expert” but I was so caught up in the romance of the adventure I persuaded myself that with the experience of a similar trip in Mongolia and a few added lessons I would be good to go.
The group flew into a small domestic airport, already dressed in our riding gear, and were driven directly to the farm from which we would start. They gathered us in a circle for introductions and had me go first with my name, origin, and a brief description of my riding experience. I embellished my ongoing lessons and Mongolia trip a bit thinking I had done myself proud. Then listened with growing dismay as I discovered the rest of the group really were experts, most with their own horses including some with Icelandic ponies, some competitive show jumpers, all vastly more experienced than me. My heart sunk further when we stepped outside and I realized that they were catching horses that we had to then bridle and saddle on our own (gulp), a routine that would be repeated multiple times a day as we rode with a herd of horses, changing every few hours to avoid overtiring them. I got help from a fellow traveler so that I was confident the saddle would actually stay in place and we were off. Within five minutes, a horse ran away with one of the experts who broke his hand and was off the trip and another expert was pitched unceremoniously into the dirt. What, I wondered, had I gotten myself into?
In the next 9 days, I experienced muscles that were beyond tired and sore. We slept rough in the unheated sheepherder huts that dot the landscape. Together my horse and I swam deep rivers, jumped ditches, and rode narrow trails hugging steep banks, always at the fast pace typical of Icelandic horsemen. I learned how to “tolt”, a remarkable gait unique to Icelandic ponies so smooth that they hold contests riding and carrying trays of beer to see who can avoid spilling. I experienced an Iceland few tourists get to see, riding in the shadows of volcanoes and alongside glaciers, through barren windswept lava fields where it became clear why horseback is the preferred mode of transportation. I gained an appreciation for the rugged beauty of the land and toughness of the people. Before I knew it, we were celebrating our last night together. I received a special “award” from the trip leaders, basically for having managed to stay on my horse the entire time, something I regarded as a minor miracle.
I have long believed I made a mistake in going on that trip, that I lacked the expertise that was necessary and that it was sheer luck I returned in one piece. But as I read recently that women in particular tend to overvalue expertise, often to their detriment professionally, I realized I had done just that in this case. Sure, my skills weren’t at the same level as the other participants, but I successfully arrived at the same destination having fully enjoyed an experience that exceeded all expectation. I started with some riding expertise that grew considerably as we progressed, and I was brimming with grit and determination. I quickly learned to bridle and saddle a horse with confidence. I sought help when I needed it and it was always forthcoming. In short, I had all the tools necessary to meet the challenge and until now had never recognized that nor given myself the credit for it.
My conclusion? Expertise is important but it’s not everything and it shouldn’t hold you back from pursuing opportunities for which you may be better prepared than you think.