As we drove into the driveway of the rink, I felt my stomach drop. I pulled into the parking spot and pretended to share in my companions joy over the fact that we made it. I felt as if I'd throw up. We walked into the rink and it was packed - that's right, packed! It seemed like everyone and their brother had the same plans as my friends and I. The rink was crawling! There were the classic hockey jocks, showing off their effortless skating; the inevitable large group of girls, holding hands with their "besties" and giggling excessively if any of them fell; the little children, pushing their milk crates around and just barely standing up; and of course the gifted children, two feet tall and skating circles around the rest of us. Seeing the rink so full of people only made my anxiety intensify. We sat down to put on our skates, and I thought I was going to die. The skates fit - I hadn't even tried them on 'til that point. So far so good... but I wasn't on the ice yet.
I stalled for as long as I thought I could without making it look like I was stalling, but it was finally time. I wanted my friends to think I knew what I was doing, so I stepped on to the ice with confidence. I took a deep breath...To my surprise, I was still alive. I didn't fall; I didn't die. I began to make my way around the rink. A push with my right foot... then left... and soon I was gliding. I was flying! Round and round, like it was second nature. I was going so fast I could hardly breathe for fear that I'd knock myself off balance. I remembered why I loved skating. All the memories I loved about it came rushing back. I loved the wind through my hair, the feeling of being suspended in the air - not grounded, not airborne, just suspended. I loved the graceful feeling of gliding around the little ones pushing their crates. I loved the rush I felt when I closed my eyes for a moment and my heart skipped a beat. It was perfect. All I had to do was keep it going. All I had to do was not....fall
Well, I failed. I fell. I fell right in front of my friend. The little spikey front part of my blade caught the ice while I was turning the corner, and I went tumbling onto the ice. I made some weird excuse that didn't make sense for why I fell, but the fact was, I had no excuse. I just fell. No real reason. I just fell.
When I went ice skating when I was little, my goal was always to not fall. It was a competition with myself I had every time. Whether I had fun or not relied very much on the fact that I did not fall. If I fell, it felt like I wasted the entire skating trip. It was not a success, no matter how much fun it may have been. Falling was the sign of complete failure.
I don't mean to be one of those obnoxious people who go on and on about pedestrian activities for the sake of talking about my feelings, but I felt like this particular instance holds a certain deeper truth that was worthy enough to write about. You see, ice skating can be a lot like life. People go through life trying never to "fall." They do everything right and avoid anything that might make them stumble. For some people, it might mean taking easy classes - no challenge, no chance of falling. Or maybe it's not trying out for the musical at school - if you don't try, there's no chance of falling. Or for other people it might mean avoiding special relationships - no attachment means no chance of falling. Although I've never really thought of myself as a "frightened" sort of person, I realized that the kind of fear that is the most crippling is the fear of failure. The thought of failure is a terrifying thought for many people - including me.
After my first fall on the rink, I came to a realization. Skating did not have to be about avoiding falls. I had a choice. I could let my fall make me feel like a failure and let it ruin the rest of the outing, or I could start skating a little faster, start gliding with a little more rhythm, start trying fancy maneuvers. I didn't have to worry about falling - I had already done that. Well, I obviously choose the second option. I started skating for the fun of it rather than for the purpose of not falling. Once I wasn't focused on falling, I could do anything that I wanted. I fell again at another point, but I didn't mind. I smiled at the little kid that I fell trying to avoid and picked myself back up. It didn't matter that I fell. All that mattered was that I could keep going.
I want my life to be like that ice skating trip. There are so many opportunities to fall in life. Failure is inevitable. But it does not have to dictate the attitude with which we live our lives. Once you realize you've already fallen, you no longer need to keep up the facade of perfection. When you glide along only focused on not falling, you might as well be sitting on the sidelines. There is such freedom when you can glide for the purpose of flying. Sometimes that means falling, but unless you let yourself fall a couple times you'll never know what it means to soar!
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