Last Thanksgiving, we found ourselves in Chicago. I’m married to a big-city boy and he’s married to a suburbia-raised turned city-appreciating gal, so we’ve been doing an American big-city tour to see where we might want to end up.
In Chicago for the start of the holiday season, we did lots of classic Chicago things and also holiday-specific things. One of those things had to be ice skating in one of the city rinks. And ice skate, we did.
I hadn’t skated in years — I couldn’t remember the last time I had been. It was probably when I was a teen, so I wasn’t sure how I’d do on the ice all these years later. Would I wobble? Would I flail? Would I die?
When I stepped out on the ice, I surprised myself. It was like my teen muscle memory snapped into place and I was flying. I felt confident. I felt free. As I whipped around the rink, I felt like I’d uncovered a hidden part of myself that had sat dormant for years.
(Meanwhile, ice skating turned out to not be Freddy’s favorite thing and he patiently, lovingly watched me while I flew.)
This isn’t where I turn into Michelle Trachtenberg in Ice Princess, although that would be neat. But as we left that rink in Chicago, I made a mental note to do more things that made me feel alive and free, ice skating or otherwise.
And why hadn’t I done more things like that for years and years? A lot of things to be sure, but mostly limiting beliefs I carried such as
I’m not athletic.
I’m not coordinated.
I’m not the fittest person.
Someone will be much better at it and I’ll look foolish.
And therefore I won’t do the thing and I’ll let all the more capable, sporty people do the thing instead. And I’ll just push the thing out of my mind. And claim other things that feel safer.
Well, thankfully I’ve done a lot of (painful, necessary) inner work over the past few years and I’m trying (key word: trying) to worry less about what others think and do whatever brings me joy. And ice skating lit a spark.
My birthday falls soon after Thanksgiving and I was determined to keep the spark going. I also hadn’t rollerbladed in eons, and now I wanted to go rollerblading! At the local rink! For my birthday! I was going to invite some friends and we’d go boogie on blades.
And then there were some conflicting events and I was heading into finals week and it just didn’t happen.
Then before I knew it, I was in my last semester of grad school, and keeping the spark lit was no longer a priority.
But then graduation came! And I was determined to go rollerblading with friends to celebrate this time. But I had also ordered a cake with my face on it and it turns out the rink doesn’t let outside food in. So we skipped the rollerblading and just ate the cake.
At this point, it had been over six months since the spark and I finally decided to take matters into my own hands and ORDER MY OWN DANG ROLLERBLADES so I could blade whenever I wanted. I already knew the ones I would get.
The Impala Inline Skates. In Sky Blue, baby. I ordered them. And then they came, and I realized what I had done.
I had ordered these enormous, glorious, loud, beautiful skates. They are a sight to behold. And wearing them — with all the protective gear too — would require taking up space. You don’t not wear rollerblades in a public setting without drawing attention to yourself. Especially these ones.
So I opened the box, saw that they were lovely, then put them on a chair where they would then sit for a few weeks while I worked up the courage. (I also had neglected to order a helmet and after reading some skating horror stories determined one was needed. So I had to wait for that.)
Eventually, like any good shopper, I had to make sure I was actually going to keep the blades before the return window closed. So I finally put them on. I did some baby blading around our kitchen. And giggled. (And Monet watched in horror.)
And then one day, I finally went out for a spin in my neighborhood. I was wobbly at first and probably looked ridiculous, but also, no one cares. I found my footing eventually. I found my confidence.
And then I was free.
I would like to say that after finally getting out on the blades, I have zero confidence issues now. But no, I still have to make the effort to get myself out there and feel okay with taking up space. Yet I like to think I become a little freer each time I do. And that’s the point, right?
Rollerblading is one of a handful of my reclaiming-my-younger-self side quests. Also on the list are drawing, video games, crafts, writing, wearing bright colors, photography, and some more. It’s not that I had fully stopped doing all these things — it’s that as I got older, I cared too much about what others thought and wasn’t doing these things for the pure joy of it. So. Practice makes progress. Choosing joy over here.
I’m curious: What things did your younger self love? How are you practicing those things now?
Until next time,
Maryn (is here)
That is absolutely the point!! Yay you! So beautifully written - I was with you every moment. So excited for your expansive explorations ;)
I love this!! I recently had a very similar experience with riding a bike. Rediscovering childhood hobbies is magic. 💖