Sometimes a single idea arrives at exactly the moment you need it.
I recently began reading Linda Kohanov’s work and, only a few pages in, encountered two concepts that immediately made me think about the fight to protect the Salt River horses: cathedral thinking and equanimity.
Cathedral thinking asks us to think beyond the immediate moment.
The great cathedrals of Europe were often built over generations. The people who laid the first stones knew they might never see the finished structure. Some would spend their entire lives working on something their grandchildren, or even their grandchildren’s grandchildren, might ultimately complete.
And yet they laid the stones.
They understood that their contribution mattered even if they would never personally witness the finished cathedral.
There is something important in that idea for those of us fighting to protect the Salt River horses.
Right now, our immediate goal is clear: we do not want horses removed from the Salt River.
We want decisions about this herd based on independent science. We want humane management. We want transparency and accountability. And we want the public, which has fought for these horses for years, to have a meaningful voice in determining their future.
But advocacy has a way of making us measure everything by what happened today.
- Did someone return the phone call?
- Did the agency listen?
- Did the legislation pass?
- Did the newspaper publish the opinion piece?
- Did the meeting change anyone’s mind?
- Did we stop the removal?
When the answer is no, it is easy to believe the work failed.
Cathedral thinking tells us otherwise.
We are living that lesson right now.
Friends of the Salt River Wild Horses has submitted more than 70 requests asking Governor Katie Hobbs to meet with advocates before planned September removals proceed. Those requests have gone unanswered. Yet the work continues. We keep writing. We keep asking. We keep gathering the science, the public records and the people willing to stand up for these horses.
You do not stop laying stones because the person in power has not answered the door.
Each effort becomes part of something larger.
- The public records request is a stone.
- The letter to an elected official is a stone.
- The scientific question nobody at the agency wants to answer is a stone.
- The opinion piece that reaches someone who never thought about wild horses before is a stone.
- The legislator who begins asking questions is a stone.
- The citizen who attends a rally for the first time is a stone.
- And perhaps even the 71st request for a meeting is a stone.
Even legislation that fails can become a stone if its ideas return stronger in the next legislative session.
We cannot always know which one will matter most.
That brings me to the second word: equanimity.
Equanimity means maintaining calmness and balance, particularly when circumstances are difficult or uncertain. It does not mean indifference. In fact, it may be most necessary when we care deeply.
For advocates, that distinction matters.
Caring about these horses can be emotionally exhausting. Every setback can feel enormous because the stakes are living, sentient beings we are trying to protect.
Equanimity asks something different of us.
- Care deeply, but do not allow every setback to consume you.
- Remain determined without becoming defeated by every disappointment.
- Recognize what you can control, do that work well, and then keep going.
That is especially important when another email goes unanswered, another meeting request receives no response or another door appears to close.
Equanimity does not mean accepting the silence. It does not mean abandoning urgency. It means refusing to let frustration consume the energy we need for the next letter, the next question, the next piece of evidence and the next person who may finally listen.
Perhaps that is one of the things horses themselves have to teach us.
They are extraordinarily aware of their surroundings. They notice changes humans miss. They respond to danger when necessary, yet when the danger passes, they return to grazing, resting, interacting and simply being horses.
There is a steadiness in that.
And maybe those of us fighting for them need some of it too.
Cathedral thinking and equanimity belong together. One gives us the patience to understand that meaningful change can take years. The other gives us the steadiness to endure those years without losing sight of why we began.
We absolutely want to stop the removals facing the Salt River horses now. Cathedral thinking does not mean accepting something we believe is wrong because change might come someday.
It means understanding that whatever happens in one battle, the larger work continues.
- We keep demanding science.
- We keep asking questions.
- We keep educating the public.
- We keep building relationships.
- We keep challenging decisions that deserve to be challenged.
And when one approach fails, we learn from it and lay the next stone.
Someday, perhaps, the cathedral we are building will be a permanent system of protection for the Salt River horses that no longer depends upon who happens to occupy the Governor’s Office, who runs a particular agency or what agreement happens to be in effect.
- Maybe we will see that day.
- Maybe those who come after us will.
- Either way, the work before us is the same.
We may not know which stone will ultimately save the Salt River horses. Our responsibility is to keep laying them.
That is cathedral thinking. And perhaps equanimity is what gives us the strength to keep laying the stones, even when we cannot yet see the cathedral they will become.
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