It doesn't take much sometimes. A nasty phone call from someone who refuses to listen. A well-intentioned yet biting remark from a friend. An urgently needed car repair that couldn't come at a worse time. Even something as simple as the local Starbucks running out of your favorite white chocolate mocha with whip can be enough to send you plummeting over the edge and spiraling downward into a complete emotional breakdown.

On a larger scale, events like the recent catastrophic earthquake in Haiti can make one feel like a tiny, insignificant dot in a world filled with so much great need. You want desperately to help, the images are heartbreaking, but you are overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of the devastation.

I stood in the arena a few weeks ago and watched an intense chiropractic, holistic evaluation be completed on my horse. "Overwhelmed" doesn't begin to sum up my feelings after the 2+ hour session. I knew he needed it, desperately needed it, and eagerly anticipated positive results. I didn't count on or expect the flood of emotions from either my horse or myself. And with each reaction he gave - head rearing up sharply, sidestepping, resisting and recoiling...then, more softly, head dropping, eyes softening and a slow chew - I reacted, my eyes welling to the brim each time, swallowing hard over the ever-growing lump in my throat. Near the end of the session, when he had let down his guard and begun to trust enough to allow Dr. Seelye to work on his front legs and she loudly and joyfully proclaimed "Good for you! Good for you!!" to him, I wanted to collapse into a sobbing heap right then and there. My own self-conscious embarassment prevented this, however, and I covered my mouth and squinted my eyes tightly should they betray the carefully composed air of stability I tried to exude. In fact, I still cannot think about that moment in the arena, or talk or write about it, without welling up all over again. I love my horse and when it comes to his healing and well-being, my emotional ties to him are plainly and at times pathetically evident.

I walked away from the session with a lot of information. And a bit of a sense of - how am I ever going to help him or make a difference? Adding in the challenge of trying to select a new name for him (and the resulting internal dialogue I've wrestled with the past few weeks: does his name, "Tuff," really define him or is he who he is as a result of everything he's been through and does today? Am I spending far too much time dwelling on and stressing over this?), and I feel a bit ineffective and, again....overwhelmed.

It's easy to feel outnumbered when the challenges are stacked higher than the victories. So as I left the barn the other day, again having struggled through an "off" day with my horse (also known as the Most Beautiful Horse on Earth), I climbed slowly into my car, removed a glove, and stopped. I breathed it in deeply - that sweet and familiar smell of my horse: hair, dirt, shavings, the whole bit. Fellow horse lovers may understand. I have loved that smell my whole life. It is associated with some of the best memories I have. So here I sat, worn down by the odds seemingly stacked against me - and him - and just....breathed. It had a powerful effect, this simple thing.

I have to remember this sometimes, about life. At times you really only can take things a day at a time. Walking alongside rescue horses, one knows this all too well. And even if you can't take on a whole day, you take a step. My horse is living proof of this. For each step he's bravely taken, even in the midst of intense pain, it's been a cause for great celebration (and sometimes happy weeping). If I can focus on this, I don't feel so overwhelmed. Or powerless. We're all capable of making tremendous impact and great strides, even when it doesn't feel that way. Even through the small and simple things.