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When I think of a horse, I think of my first horse, Pinky, a horse that took care of me, never leading me off the beaten path.

When I think of a horse jockey, I think of my brother, a cowboy training a wild horse for the open pastures and the open trail.

And when I think of horse racing, I think of the countless bareback races my brothers and I competed in from the fence post to the creek at my ranch.

So, when I think of all three of these things together - a horse, a horse jockey and a horse race - all I can picture are these images and these memories at my ranch in the summertime.

This is my version of horse racing.

But, with these open pastures being 1,000 miles away and Pinky being far past his racing prime, the closest equivalent to my horse racing fix was Opening Day of the Del Mar horse races.

Instead of my usual horse racing attire of torn wranglers, my brothers' oversized T-shirts and cowboy boots, I wore a strapless dress, high heels and a hat.

The hat was much more than an accessory. In fact, the hat was the entire outfit.

It was a subtle ivory adorned on the side with a blooming flower and rhinestones. It was just the right size, big enough to provide mystery while I bet on horse No. 8, No. 6, No. 4 and so on. Yet this ivory hat was small enough to portray a sense of classiness.

I never had quite enough luck to win, or enough strategy to even get close. But it was more about the action of betting in this ivory hat than the winning itself. It was more about how I felt in the hat. Because, with the hat on, I felt as if I was a regular, as if I belonged at the tracks, even though I grew up in the pastures.

I felt like a city girl feels when she puts on a cowboy hat at a country concert - like she belongs. That is how I felt when I put on my ivory hat.

It wasn't until I put on the hat did I realize the significance of this accessory, not to the outfit itself, but to my demeanor. Like a cowboy hat, baseball hat, Santa Claus hat, top hat or any other hat, this ivory hat brought a different character to life within me.

With this hat on, I felt less vulnerable in this unfamiliar scene and more confident. I thought I had the knowledge and the logic to bet on horses with the money I didn't have.

Although I wasn't a high roller, only betting a few dollars at a time, I still was taking risks blindly without logic. And I blame it on the hat.

The sound of the shotgun signaled to the horses to compete, to race, to win. For the horse, there is only one destination and one motive - to get to finish line. For them, it is not about the money or the stardom.

But the sound of the shotgun triggers the thought of dollar bills in the audiences mind, and their motive becomes winning money.

It is a continuous gamble, a gamble on uncertainty.

This uncertainty becomes certain in your mind when you wear the hat, when you wear the confidence on your head. It becomes certain that the risks you are taking are worth the gains or the losses.

The questions about taking these risks are clarified by one simple answer - it is all because of the hat. Because you feel as though you belong, you are willing to take those risks. And the hat helps you do that.

But why do we have to belong in order to take those risks? Why can't we take these risks confidently without playing dress up, without wearing the hat?

We all race for the finish line, placing bets on our future or where we will end up. We place bets on whether we will become a doctor, a millionaire, a cowboy, a movie star or a stay at home mom. We place bets on which hat we will wear.

But some of us stay inside the boundaries of the track never trying on another hat, never testing the uncertainty because this uncertainty might lead to failure.

It might lead to last place. And we all want to be first.