Looking back I can't really decide how much of my anxiety might have been alleviated by learning in a different environment.  Group lessons at a bog standard riding school which churned out hourly classes all day Saturday and Sunday were hardly the ideal situation to instil confidence into a shy and anxious youngster.  Oh the humiliation of having to cajole an unpredictable and uncooperative animal into a canter in front of the class.  I felt sick and certain I'd fall off every time.  Fat legs flapping and bulging bottom bouncing only dreams of hacking out when I reached the required standard drove me on.

Hacking epitomised the conflict between desire and anxiety that punctuated all my later exploits.  Our rides regularly took us down a bank that I probably exaggerated like Dunkery Beacon.  I'm sure I fell off because I'd believed I would.  I lost count of the number of tumbles I took.  Why did I persist?  Mostly I was driven by my lifelong, movie motivated fantasy to one day be a "cowboy", although perhaps I was also afraid of wasting the money that had already been invested in my lessons. 

I reacted much the same to rides arranged on holiday.  In some respects these provoked even more anxiety because the horses and country were unknown.  Although perfectly capable of staying with any reasonably well-schooled pony, I none the less clung surreptitiously to the front of many a saddle.  Yet to this day I can still recall the ride that epitomised my dreams.  Oh the ecstasy of galloping a well-schooled and impeccably behaved skewbald across the tops of the heather clad Prescelly Hills. 

Although learning to ride provoked significant levels of anxiety as a teenager in the seventies neither I, nor my parents, had any knowledge of the potentially all pervasive nature of generalised anxiety disorder.  And I never dreamed that what I now know as a combination of poor self-confidence, low self-esteem and acute social phobia would render the transition to life at college impossible.

Back home, depressed and in disgrace after flunking my degree I drew some small comfort from the closeness of all the places I loved.  At weekends I could escape to the hills in the familiar company of close friends.  For a few hours I could banish the ordeal of integrating myself into an unfamiliar and often unfriendly working environment.  In an effort to overcome what I later recognised as a disabling social phobia and meet like minded people I joined the Youth Hostels Association and enlisted for voluntary work setting up a local group.

Safe within the confines of a well-defined role my social life blossomed and, after I married, thoughts turned again to travel.  My affinity for the mountains together with my childhood joy at the geographical diversity within our small country fuelled a desire to expand my horizons.  At 26, with a perceived love of travel and an intense curiosity about other cultures I felt certain that I was ready to spread my wings. At least as far as mainland Europe.  A stepping stone en route to more distant and exotic destinations perhaps?  Although I was aware of my severely lacking self-confidence I never, for one moment, considered that my anxious nature might sabotage those aspirations.