Two posts in a week! One right after another, no less! What a treat!
It occurred to me, you might care to know a little bit more about the person, whose thoughts you are currently reading. You know, on a deeper level. What makes me tick? What motivates and defines me?
It's hard to know where to start. I'm a mixed bag of deflated ambition, anxieties, and neurosis. All of which are holding me back.
So, I'm beginning a series of posts where I just put it all out there. Somewhere along the line, I hope in yanking at that thread, I can finally unravel my blanket of disappointment and failure I've kept my tucked in.
Some might think I'm being too personal. Sharing too much. But, if I ever truly want to become a writer. I can no longer hold back. It's got to be all or nothing.
I lost my mother suddenly when I was eight. This is the first in a series of events in which my world was flipped upside down. Before that, all I wanted to be was Dorothy Hamill. Or married to Rick Springfield. My mom, knowing only one was remotely possible, signed me up for ice skating lessons. Every Saturday morning, I would put on my shiny little outfit with pink, purple, white and green stripes, which I thought looked like candy, and begin to realize my dream.
I don't remember if I were any good but I remember loving every minute. The first lesson they teach you, is how to fall. Which, looking back, is a great metaphor. Because it's inevitable. You're balancing your body weight on two thin blades on very slippery ice. If you don't know what you're doing, you are going to fall. As I mentioned before, you have have sharp blades on your feet and if you fall the wrong way, don't think they won't slice the ever loving shit out of whatever part of your body in which they come in contact. So, they make sure you fall the right way. Minimizing the damage. Preparing yourself. You can apply it to most anything you tackle in life. It's perfectly fine to make elaborate leaps and jumps as long as you know, when you fall, how to get right back up again keep going on with the planned routine.
I would go so far as to say that's the most valuable lesson I took away. Years later, I went ice skating with my 6th grade class, and not once would I let go of the wall. At six, I'd been so fearless, but as the years passed, I lost any confidence I had in what little ability I gained.
Sadly, my figure skating career was not meant to be. I was not going to be the next Dorothy Hamill. For one, I had very naturally curly hair and would never achieve her perfect bowl cut. And two, when my mom died, I went to live with my dad, who didn't so much care about continuing with silly fantasy. In losing my mom, I'd lost my biggest supporter. My number one fan. My motivation. Who's to know, if she'd lived, whether or not I'd have followed it through. Still, it was my first little spark, and it was extinguished before it ever really got to burn.
I still think about it though. In my daydreams, I'll hear a song, and in my head, I'm slicing across the ice with razor sharp precision, to my own little Olympic medal winning routine.
I want to go back in time and find that little girl. Borrow her blind, raw, untainted enthusiasm. Back then, it never dawn on me that I wouldn't make it as a figure skater. I want to get that and apply it to something else. I won't kid myself. The figure skating thing is never going to happen. But, that doesn't mean something else won't.
I'm not destined to fail.
I have to remember that.
But first, I have got to master the fall.
