Unbridled: A Memoir

Barbara had it all: a home, a husband, and a stable full of horses. But when her castle came crumbling down, she realized if she was going to be more than a wife, first she’d have to get a life.

Following advice from her adventurous late grandmother, she set off for Ireland. While exploring the land of her ancestors, she danced with horsemen, communed with priestesses, and had an erotic encounter in an ancient castle.

Somewhere along the way she discovered a part of herself that had been missing from her life. Something she’d longed for without knowing it. And now she wanted more.

She set off on another kind of adventure -- a visit to a hedonistic resort in Jamaica. After an unexpected turn of events took her through the gates of a run-down orphanage filled with needy girls on the verge of becoming women, she realized the path to self-discovery lay in helping others.

By turns sensual and soulful, helpful and hilarious, Barbara’s remarkable story will take you on a journey of introspection and exploration that leads to a life that finally makes sense.

“When Jah is within, all things are possible.” “Show me,” I said, accepting the challenge.

The guide shed his chaps and mounted his horse. Following his lead, I put a foot in my stirrup and climbed astride my horse, ready to be enlightened by a Rasta wrangler. With a flick of his reins, the guide let out a shout. “Irie!”

Together, our horses galloped toward the sea. I waited for the guide to change direction, but he headed straight into the surf. As the waves broke around us, the horses surged forward, part running, part swimming, and the Rasta was right. It felt just like flying. For a moment, I was Pegasus.

The girls on the shore shouted and cheered, clamoring to take a turn. I looked to Shamara for approval, and she nodded with a smile. They traveled in pairs, each guide escorting a willing girl into the froth. I could hear shrieks of joy and laughter when their horses took “flight,” galloping through the waves.

Not every girl was brave enough to fly. Monique hung back from the others.

“Do you want to try?” I could understand her trepidation. Monique chewed her bottom lip and looked from me to the other girls and back again. “Yes, ma’am. I want to try, but I’m scared.”

I took both of our horses and led them toward the water, tying Monique’s horse to a large piece of driftwood on the beach. Eager to experience the rush again, I got on my horse and demonstrated for Monique before I took her into the water.

“It’s really quite easy.” I dismounted when I returned to shore. “You don’t have to do anything except trust your horse.”

Emboldened, she came over to the horse. I gave her a leg up, and she hopped astride. Her small hands gripped the reins and clenched the saddle horn. Taking hold of the lead rope tied to her horse’s halter, I mounted my own horse, leaving a slack loop between us. I started toward the water and looked back as Monique closed her eyes. Her well trained mare followed mine out into the water. As we ventured a little deeper, the horses lifted off the ocean floor, buoyed by the salt water.

Monique flicked her eyes open and looked down into the frothy water. “We’re flying, Miss Barbara! We’re flying!”