Get Down Off That Horse Before It Bucks You A Reflection on Humility, Ego, and Learning the Hard Way.

Get Down Off That Horse Before It Bucks You

A Reflection on Humility, Ego, and Learning the Hard Way.

By Kateb Shunnar

Humility usually doesn’t knock politely. It kicks the door open when you’re halfway through congratulating yourself. One minute you’re feeling real accomplished, chest out, back straight, thinking you finally arrived. The next minute life says, “Arrived where?” and hands you a receipt you weren’t expecting.

Most of us don’t start out arrogant. We get there slowly. Step by step. Compliment by compliment. Achievement stacked on top of achievement until we start believing the highlight reel is the whole movie. Society helps with that illusion. Matter of fact, society sells it wholesale.

We’re taught to measure ourselves early. Grades. Titles. Salaries. Zip codes. The size of the house. The year of the car. The brand on the clothes. We don’t just measure ourselves, either. Oh no. We size up everybody else too. Same crooked ruler. Same warped scale. And somehow we convince ourselves that this mess equals worth.

That’s how folks end up on high horses they didn’t even mean to climb. And once you’re up there, perspective gets funny. You stop seeing people. You start seeing categories. Successful. Struggling. Worthy. Not quite. And if you’re not careful, humility starts feeling optional. Like an accessory you can put on later.

But here’s the truth we like to dodge. Everything is not about us. Never was. Never will be. We are tiny threads in a massive, moving tapestry. Necessary, yes. Central, no. The universe doesn’t revolve around our opinions, our pain, or our personal timeline. That realization can either humble you or harden you.

We live in a culture obsessed with arrival. Where you should be by now. What you should have by now. Who you should be by now. And if you don’t match the imaginary schedule, something must be wrong with you. That pressure alone breeds comparison. Comparison breeds judgment. Judgment breeds ego. And ego… ego is loud, fragile, and allergic to truth.

It doesn’t take much to start believing you’re better than somebody else. A good job will do it. A little money will do it. Good looks will definitely do it. Education. Family name. Even spiritual knowledge, which is wild when you think about it. Folks will sit on a high chair because they think they got life figured out, forgetting how quickly chairs can wobble.

And it’s not just people with things who struggle with this. People without can fall into it too. Pride wears many costumes. Sometimes it dresses up as resentment. Sometimes as bitterness. Sometimes as quiet superiority that says, “At least I’m not like them.” I know because I’ve worn a few of those outfits myself. Had to throw them out once they stopped fitting my spirit.

That’s why I started choosing humility on purpose sometimes. Not for applause. Not to be dramatic. But to remember.

I’d take the RTA bus instead of driving. Sit there listening to conversations, watching tired faces headed to honest work. People holding hope in one hand and a transfer pass in the other. I remembered being there. Remembered praying for a car. Remembered what it felt like to depend on timing you couldn’t control. That bus ride brought me back down to earth real quick.

And sometimes I walked. Six point six miles. Two hours and change. New Orleans on foot will talk to you if you listen. Your legs start burning. Your thoughts slow down. Ego gets quiet because it’s too busy trying to breathe. You notice details you’d miss speeding past. Those walks did something to me. Still do.

I fasted sometimes too. From food. From noise. From the need to be right. Fasting shows you who’s really running the show. Discipline isn’t about punishment. It’s about direction. About choosing what serves your future instead of what flatters your moment.

I’m human. Fully. I still catch myself. Still course correct. Still choose peace even when pride wants to speak. I want peace in my body. Peace in my relationships. Peace in my lineage. And I learned you cannot hand out peace if your own cup stays empty.

Somebody once told me it’s better to humble yourself before Creation humbles you. Let me tell you something. That whipping hurts. And it leaves marks. I’ve got a few reminders. They don’t make me bitter. They make me careful.

Humility isn’t weakness. That’s lazy thinking. Humility is strength with manners. It’s knowing who you are without needing to announce it. It’s being solid enough to say, “I was wrong,” and not fall apart. It’s understanding your value without turning it into a weapon.

My granny used to say, treat people the way you want the Creator to treat you when your life hits the scales. She talked about the heart being lighter than a feather. That lesson stayed with me longer than most sermons ever did.

Humility doesn’t mean letting people run you over. It means knowing when to step aside and when to stand firm. Wisdom lives there.

That’s why symbols like the Sphinx matter to me. Half lion. Half human. The lion is our instincts. Our appetites. Our ego. The human head is awareness. Reason. Spirit. The lesson isn’t to kill the lion. It’s to guide it. Discipline is the leash. Consciousness is the hand holding it.

Let me tell you about Inez.

Inez lived in the Seventh Ward. Sold herbs, remedies, and straight talk. Folks with loud success and quiet problems ended up on her porch somehow. She didn’t chase wisdom. She embodied it.

One day a man asked her how to win at life. She told him to carry water home without spilling it. He failed. Again and again. Finally angry, he asked for the secret. She said, “Walk slow enough to notice your hands shaking.” That was it. No lecture. No applause.

Years later, when his world collapsed, he came back. Sat. Listened.

Humility teaches you how to walk.

I learned that lesson again when I took over my mother Marva’s house after she passed. Decisions made after Katrina looked fine at the time. Survival choices. But years later, the cracks showed. Fixing them cost more than money. It cost understanding. Our choices echo. Humility asks us to think forward.

At some point, we have to admit it’s not all about us. Our unborn are watching through time. Our behavior matters.

So choose humility. Choose listening. Choose peace. Before the horse throws you.

Don’t burn a bridge just to light your way.

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