I used to be carefree, too. I also used to smoke too much and drink too much and lo-and-behold I aquired a low-grade and persistent anxiety that became so normal I didn't even know it was there until I met a guy who had to amputate a few fingers because of smoking-related nerve damage and all of a sudden that anxiety became all I noticed and of course it still took me a while to quit smoking and even longer to quit drinking, but it was like there was a switch, and once it was turned on I realized that there was so much risk/death everywhere (never mind what I was doing to myself, what with the smoking and drinking), and finding my way out of that fear and anxiety, well, I suppose what I am saying is that yes, knives-boots-ice-running, and thank god for books and pen and paper and decaf Americano's and walks in the arboretum with my wife and the ability to pick up a guitar and sing myself a lullaby.
Yes- I really see the word “ lull” in lullaby today because of the way you shared it and the image of singing a lullaby to yourself really speaks to me. I do it with hot baths, hot tea, soft clothes. I drown out my own thoughts and words with audiobooks and loud music. The music and words of others inspire me but they also numb me up enough to keep from digging in. I am aware of it now, and am writing in the quiet more intentionally. I am so glad you are here, Monica. May your Americano be just right today.
I get that, the need for quiet. I even wrote a book about it in the context of teaching! Needing space that's truly solitary. I think it's interesting, your point about numbing...I think I'm still a little pink cloudish in that life without alcohol feels so un-numb I don't even notice anything else having a closely similar impact, except the television. Your point about going deep made me think that I've been ready to go deep for ever, really, but just never had the right conditions (the right support, the right experiences, the right age, etc...), but here I am now with all of the above! And I almost don't know what to do with your generosity of spirit, Emily. It's a model, for sure, so that I must also say in return, I'm so glad to have encountered you, and I hope that your day is soft and full of hot tea.
Much appreciation to you all for these thoughts. I keep coming across reminders of the need to move slowly and deliberately as an antidote for all that we are being asked to consider/confront in today's world. Each of you has added more to my ongoing reflections. Thank you.
This going deeper, Monica, this really resonated with me. This idea of wanting to go deep but not bc of whatever. I started after I stopped drinking, well, even before in therapy and then yoga training and it's become it's own sort of un-numbing therapy and practice. It's almost like I can't not go deep and sometimes I'd like to just do a thing and not need to know why. lol.
writing in the quiet more intentionally. I love this for you. And I have numbed with music for years. I finally quit running with it, then quit hiking with it, then driving in silence. it's kind of a thing. It becomes so calming after I got over having to be with myself all the time. I also know that for my slightly divergent brain, I cannot be listening to something with words and do something else with any attention. I do write for work with non-verbal music on, usually jazz, which actually helps me focus and go deeper, but only with headphones by tuning out the rest of the world, which maybe in a sense is numbing. I don't think in the way you mean, but you've got me thinking about ways in which we numb that could actually be good for us, for our brains and hearts and nervous system. I love how you always bring wonder with you. xoxoxo
I'm late to the party and so enjoying this exchange!
My experience with numbing is different, at least since a big "after" a couple years ago (just read Rita's last piece, so before/after is on my mind). I notice that I spend most of my alone time in quiet and I think perhaps I go deep into myself, shutting down almost, to numb. The outside world disappears, because often the outside world is just too much, too loud, too distracting. I need quiet to write and I walk with my thoughts, but sometimes, the quiet is too loud. I have to make a conscious effort to play music while I'm cooking, and then I love it, because my body remembers how much I love to dance, or I put on a podcast while I'm on a solitary walk, but then, sometimes I can't hear out of one ear for awhile due to compacted earwax from the earbuds, dry earwax something else that dries out during menopause. TMI, sorry lol. And sometimes I purposely don't want anything in my ears, because I'm walking amongst trees and want to hear the sounds of nature. Anyway, I think all these things we do, whether to go deep or to slow our thoughts, can serve us well however, whenever we need them. :)
I remember the first time a therapist said that of course I was anxious and I was dumbfounded because I didn't feel anxious, or what I thought anxious was. You know what they say about how it's hard to be conscious of water if it's the only thing you've ever lived in. Or something like that. Your list at the end is everything. I'm so glad you have those things.
“And the thing about fear is, when we’re afraid we tense up. That makes us skate on top of the ice, rather than into it, and that’s when our blades can slip.” This is so profound and right on time. This has been my experience learning physical skills like sailing and driving a stick shift, operating anything with multiple dials with calibrations and an instruction manual. Fear.
And: “ (I mean, my God, my hobby is strapping knives to boots and running on ice in them! But also: How much does this feel like an apt metaphor for living now, for how many of us?)”
The paradox of these two realities is the rub, right? Dig in, don’t look down, but skate like you know where your feet are and like you mean it.
I so admire your ability to even consider a hop on ice. There’s a big gap between the strides my brain is taking right now and the state of my body. The gap feels so big it feels impossible to reconcile and your description of accepting the skater you are now really resonates with me. Baby steps suck. Particularly when you are doing them again. Nobody told me how much of life is starting the same stuff over and over again . There’s such energy when you don’t know the reality of what you are doing, as you say so beautifully! The ability to start over again, knowing what you know is the bravest thing and takes a kind of strength only gained from time. Time on the ice, time lived, arcs of time completed happily and unhappily. Maybe that’s the definition of baggage? It gets harder to leap and turn when we’re like Max pulling our personal Grinch and his stuff uphill.
Emily, your words are such a balm for me this morning. Yes, baby steps suck! And this: "Nobody told me how much of life is starting the same stuff over and over again ." And this: "The ability to start over again, knowing what you know is the bravest thing and takes a kind of strength only gained from time." So I'm giving them back to you, as you navigate the gaps between your brain and your body. Knowing your brain as I've come to, it does not surprise me that there is a gap--that brain is a fast-revving engine! May we all have soothing warm drinks and soft clothes in our day today. Or the equivalent of them in the form of words from friends.
oh my god yes! "Baby steps suck. Particularly when you are doing them again. Nobody told me how much of life is starting the same stuff over and over again." Nobody told me either! 🙄
Rita, I love this post so very much. I appreciate that you are willing to grow and change and face hard things and cheer us on for doing the same. I love your resiliency in the face of challenges. I love how you spin a metaphor. The idea of digging into the thing we can with confidence, while slowly (re)building our skills (or not, as wisdom and circumstances allow) resonates deeply is such a life lesson. And one I needed this week.
Thank you, Kate. I'm so glad to connect with you, that we've maintained a tie through so many changes and hard things in our lives and in the world. It's good to know that while I will likely not ever again spin on the ice, I can still spin a metaphor that works for you.
Have you heard of skate skiing? Do you have trails where you can do this near you? Having moved to western Mass where the winter is SERIOUS we need to embrace winter sports and all the gear to make it comfortable to be out there. I bought second hand snowshoes - never done that before! I'll also be getting back into skiing after a 14 year hiatus (not that I was any good at it) but I am also wondering if maybe cross country skiing might be more enjoyable to me and less fear-inducing. Anyway all this to say I've been watching some You Tube videos about skiing as mental preparation before my return to ski lesson and came across skate skiing! It looks really cool, like a mix of cross country skiing and ice skating, and you only go forwards. Maybe there is a way to channel what you can do and what you love to do with a new hobby that doesn't involve fear?
Congratulations are also due to us all for enjoying a year of your writing too :)
I have not heard of skate skiing! I came to skiing as an adult, and I liked it immediately because of the ways in which it was so much like skating. Haven't been a skier for about the same length of time you haven't been, though. I want to hear how it goes for you! I don't think those kind of winter sports are in my future (honestly, time in the lodge was always my favorite part, and now the drive is a huge deterrent) but I love the suggestion to think about things that have the same components of things I love without high levels of risk. What I really wish I could do is what my daughter is doing in Sweden: Outdoor skating. There are trails through woods and trees, and that, I think, would definitely not be boring. Do you have anything like that where you live?
There are so many outdoor skating opportunities here - the ponds are all frozen over. A few days ago Tom met a family ice skating after they shoveled off the powder to get to the ice below and later on met some guys ice fishing elsewhere. Outdoor skating through woods and trees would be incredible though and I don't think they have that here. That would be so peaceful! Sounds like a visit to Sweden in winter would be a pleasure to be able to do that!
Just this morning she sent me a video of them skating on a frozen lake. The city plows a path around the lake for people to skate on. It looks amazing! I'm actually going to get to visit in March. She assures me that it will still be winter, but not extreme winter. I'm so excited to see her new world in person.
You perfectly described the fears that can hold us back after trauma. I didn’t realize when I was younger how much I struggled with fear, but now it stares me in the face. I can get overwhelmed about the future if I dwell on my responsibilities in light of my physical limitations. Lean in, dig in, all these expressions are helpful reminders, but your illustrations on beginning in the easier areas gives me a more specific plan.
I hadn't thought specifically about trauma while writing this, but yes, of course. Thanks for helping me see that. I so appreciated that lesson with my coach because it gave me the same thing you're naming--some specific, concrete ways in (and, I hope, through).
Rita, your post is a beacon of wisdom and heart, and it's a comfort to know that I'm not alone in my thoughts and feelings. Your twist at the end, about the wisdom in allowing for change, is a perspective I find solace in. We're all in this together, facing a difficult January and the stress of the foreseeable future.
My mantra is that "The story just isn't over yet." Goodness always prevails; it just takes time. For now, I'm in winter mode, quietly hibernating until the sun shines again, 100 percent sure that just like spring follows winter, a gentler time will return.
Rita, I’m just impressed that you strapped the knives back on! It is so hard to retrain your body (and brain!) to release that fear and tension after a fall, to get back out there. I am a “faller” and even though I love to skate, and try to embrace winter sports in general, I have a tendency to fall, which then just makes me give up. We went to a ski resort for the first time over the holidays, so our kids could ski every day and we could skate or snowshoe, hot tub, whatever. The first day I fell backwards (on Nordic skis, nobody could get me on a downhill slope), banged my head and twisted my ankle. I felt so ridiculous with all of these people surrounding me who were zipping around on skis and snowboards and skate skiing past me. I went back to our room and wallowed, like I just do not belong in this sporty world. Even my clothes are wrong.
Well, next morning I was like “this is a stupidly expensive place to wallow.” So I got one of those little-kid skate trainer things to hold onto so I could very slowly skate around the beautiful woodsy pond. I only gave it up when a very little boy asked if he could use it. 😊 The resort also had a tubing slope, which looked terrifying, but at least I couldn’t fall?? My daughters and I each got in a tube and held on to each other’s handles so we could go down together. I felt paralyzed with fear, honestly. It goes SO FAST. But then, I opened my eyes and looked up at the sky, the snowy trees flying past, felt the snowflakes on my face, the freezing wind and I just let go (not my bladder, I promise, although certainly that was an initial reaction) I just started laughing maniacally, alternating with shrieks when we caught some air over a bump, all the way down. Then I went back up and did it again.
Where was I going with this?? Oh yes, visiting the idea of being careworn instead of carefree.
I just want to find more carefree moments like that again, which is hard when everything seems like pure shite. We will never be the way we were, but there are still moments of pure, giddy joy and beauty. And honestly, the idea of gliding forward on skates to me is next level exhilarating, even without a twirl!
Oh Steph, I love everything about this story! I smiled at "this is a stupidly expensive place to wallow." And I LOVE that you used the trainer thing to get out there and be on the beautiful woodsy pond. Because the important thing, really, is being on the beautiful woodsy pond. (Saying that for myself. I need these reminders.) And tubing! We have a tubing place on our nearby mountain. I haven't been there is years now, but I used to love going there with our kids (when they were still kids). I love what you say about finding the carefree moments, even in the midst of pure shite. And this: "We will never be the way we were, but there are still moments of pure, giddy joy and beauty." I am learning how to mourn the loss of how we were, and how to do that without cutting off the moments of joy and beauty. It's a balancing act. Falling happens. When I was a kid, I learned that the key to falling without getting hurt was to stay relaxed. It was a lot easier then, but I'm trying to relearn that, too. Wishing you many, many carefree moments, no matter what the coming year brings.
"I’m thinking about what it means to dig into life when we know of its dangers in ways we never did before, but before we’ve had time to develop new networks we need to be secure in it."
Rita, I appreciate how you weave your story with our shared stories. As we approach the 20th, I can't even write what that day is, and I face the continuing devastation in LA-your post is encouraging.
You have me thinking about what I want to do that day, and I appreciate that. I've been avoiding thinking about it. I know it will start with skating, but not sure after that. Take care. Hiking sounds like a great idea.
Rita, I am so grateful for this post. this, "I’m thinking about what it means to dig into life when we know of its dangers in ways we never did before, but before we’ve had time to develop new networks we need to be secure in it." and this, "Going deeper on the things I know I can do, the things I can do with joy. Going slowly, and with small steps, on things that feel shaky. Holding onto the wall if I have to, reminding myself that everything counts for building new neural pathways. Listening to my body’s signals and taking breaks when it is telling me that I need one. Better understanding the risks and rewards of what I’m doing." and strapping knives to our shoes and running on ice. such an apt metaphor and it made me laugh.
I feel like your post is another facet, next to my post from yesterday, on a gorgeous stone of how to move through this world as it is now, as it is becoming.
How to do deeper, go more slowly, I think what you're asking, noticing, is so similar to what I wrote about, this practice of knowing it's okay. not that everything is fine. but that we must find the ways to believe in each other, to hold on to what we believe in, even when it seem decimated and even unsafe, that it is okay to still have joy and play and love and it's okay to need to slow down and hold on to the wall sometimes.
I'm finding that wall to be the space here with you and other wonderful souls, the outdoors, my home, my friends. It's amazing how much abundance there is, even under the tyranny that is the state of the world.
Also, I did not know about your fall or your brain injury and your recovery. How brave you are to get back on the ice at all. AT ALL! I'm so impressed. And to deal with all of that and just keep up being human. That takes oodles of Grace, my friend, with a capital G.
The things I can dig into:
this space
writing
yoga on and off the mat (even though my body is old and my skin saggy and my joints stiff)
hugging trees and dogs
swimming
moving my body
being silly with my husband
talking to my mom
being with friends
buying a new pair of pants that don't dig into my waist or stick to my legs :)
Rita, this is brilliant! I could go on and on. This is even better than a gratitude list, because it has me thinking about things I can dig into. Get MORE deeply into and therefore get more out of.
I do see the connections between your essay this week and mine, for sure. I think there's a big shifting happening for many of us. I absolutely love your list of things to dig into (especially the pants! yes! also hugging trees and dogs) and I love the idea of thinking about how this is different from a gratitude list. I understand the value of a gratitude list, but I agree that a list of things to dig into is even better. It's a way to combine gratitude with action. You are giving me lots to think about here...going to have to let the bubbles simmer a bit.
(I mean, my God, my hobby is strapping knives to boots and running on ice in them! But also: How much does this feel like an apt metaphor for living now, for how many of us?)
I’m laughing so hard at this—it’s such a perfect metaphor for what we’re going through. Some days, it feels like I’m facing it all alone, bracing for what’s coming. But then Mike reminded me that millions of us feel this way. I think I forget sometimes that we’re all navigating this scary time together. It just feels so isolating, doesn’t it?
By the way, you are a badass. I just wanted to let you know. ❤️
“'Where do I want to go now, and what can I do today to get me closer to that?' is the question I need to ask now." YES!!! And the answer for everyone is different.
For me, I don't want to get back to where I was, because where I was, was a mess. I dreamed of being a figure skater as a child, but would never have said it loud because 1. I didn't know dreams could come true, and 2. I was scared of falling. So, I read this piece with joy for younger you and awe over your determination to get back on the ice (but glad for your ultimate conclusion).
As a child, I wanted to be an adult, and I grew up too fast. I didn't have a carefree childhood because of a couple notable events that compounded on one another and stuck with me, settling into my body and brain, which I know now is PTSD (likely combined with other neurodivergencies). Discovering my biological paternity at 50, completely unraveling, then finally engaging in therapy and getting in touch with how my body stores feelings and letting those feelings out, has allowed me to experience the world with the childlike wonder I missed out on when I was young. Like, Monica, it was a switch, but in the opposite direction! I'm more carefree now – not reckless though, I don't think my anxiety will ever decrease enough to become reckless lol – but I feel the freedom in my body to do and say what feels right for me, and not to live to try and keep others happy.
Everything nature, enjoying outdoor activities gives me strength, confidence and joy. Long walks, challenging hikes, paddle boarding around the lake, making snowmen, noticing the beauty all around. And baking and eating chocolate chip cookies. And cooking and baking and feeding my grown children. And learning Italian. And writing and this writing community we're creating. :)
Your last paragraph feels like a prescription and a hug. I was one of those kids that adults described as "7 going on 37." That's never actually a sign of something good, is it? For a short while as a child, I was a figure skater, and I think my problems with my body started when I abruptly, completely, and irrevocably walked away from that. Or when that was the only solution I could find to the problem skating had become. It has been such a huge gift to return to it, and I completely relate to your words about experiencing the world with childlike wonder you missed out on when you were young. I love your words about feeling freedom in your body to do and say what feels right for you, and not trying to live to try and keep others happy.
It's been a difficult year so far seeing things fall apart. I'd suggest that if you aren't a little anxious right now, you might need to talk with a therapist. Kind of a reverse of the usual reason to go to therapy, but how could anyone not be anxious? I know that we'll all dig into life in our own ways, but never quite as confident as we once were. And that's where the sadness lives within me.
Rita, my first response to this thoughtful and beautifully written essay is to thank you for your willingness to be vulnerable, honest, and to ask challenging questions. I get the sense that there aren't many 'out here' doing anywhere close to that level of introspection. That said, just look at the comments amassed here and how wonderfully attentive so many of them are!
I'm glad you and your coach work so well together and that you came around to talking about how much fear is embedded in you lack of joy. We all know the aphorism: What would you do if you weren't afraid? Maybe it's not about that. Maybe facing your fears and doing what you can to keep going -- just exactly what you're doing -- is really more constructive and realistic.
You are holding up at least half the sky, my friend. I applaud you for all the ways you are forging ahead and learning as you go. And I offer you gratitude for teaching me at the same time.
I used to be carefree, too. I also used to smoke too much and drink too much and lo-and-behold I aquired a low-grade and persistent anxiety that became so normal I didn't even know it was there until I met a guy who had to amputate a few fingers because of smoking-related nerve damage and all of a sudden that anxiety became all I noticed and of course it still took me a while to quit smoking and even longer to quit drinking, but it was like there was a switch, and once it was turned on I realized that there was so much risk/death everywhere (never mind what I was doing to myself, what with the smoking and drinking), and finding my way out of that fear and anxiety, well, I suppose what I am saying is that yes, knives-boots-ice-running, and thank god for books and pen and paper and decaf Americano's and walks in the arboretum with my wife and the ability to pick up a guitar and sing myself a lullaby.
Yes- I really see the word “ lull” in lullaby today because of the way you shared it and the image of singing a lullaby to yourself really speaks to me. I do it with hot baths, hot tea, soft clothes. I drown out my own thoughts and words with audiobooks and loud music. The music and words of others inspire me but they also numb me up enough to keep from digging in. I am aware of it now, and am writing in the quiet more intentionally. I am so glad you are here, Monica. May your Americano be just right today.
I get that, the need for quiet. I even wrote a book about it in the context of teaching! Needing space that's truly solitary. I think it's interesting, your point about numbing...I think I'm still a little pink cloudish in that life without alcohol feels so un-numb I don't even notice anything else having a closely similar impact, except the television. Your point about going deep made me think that I've been ready to go deep for ever, really, but just never had the right conditions (the right support, the right experiences, the right age, etc...), but here I am now with all of the above! And I almost don't know what to do with your generosity of spirit, Emily. It's a model, for sure, so that I must also say in return, I'm so glad to have encountered you, and I hope that your day is soft and full of hot tea.
I'm so grateful for both of you, for this exchange, for your hearts and minds and the ways in which you share them.
Thanks for this space, and for opening up the conversation, and us!! 💜💜💜
Much appreciation to you all for these thoughts. I keep coming across reminders of the need to move slowly and deliberately as an antidote for all that we are being asked to consider/confront in today's world. Each of you has added more to my ongoing reflections. Thank you.
Also, if there is interest, here is a reminder that landed in my inbox today: https://www.bayoakomolafe.net/post/a-slower-urgency
💜💜💜
This going deeper, Monica, this really resonated with me. This idea of wanting to go deep but not bc of whatever. I started after I stopped drinking, well, even before in therapy and then yoga training and it's become it's own sort of un-numbing therapy and practice. It's almost like I can't not go deep and sometimes I'd like to just do a thing and not need to know why. lol.
"sometimes I'd like to just do a thing and not need to know why" My "yes" to this is so, so deep.
writing in the quiet more intentionally. I love this for you. And I have numbed with music for years. I finally quit running with it, then quit hiking with it, then driving in silence. it's kind of a thing. It becomes so calming after I got over having to be with myself all the time. I also know that for my slightly divergent brain, I cannot be listening to something with words and do something else with any attention. I do write for work with non-verbal music on, usually jazz, which actually helps me focus and go deeper, but only with headphones by tuning out the rest of the world, which maybe in a sense is numbing. I don't think in the way you mean, but you've got me thinking about ways in which we numb that could actually be good for us, for our brains and hearts and nervous system. I love how you always bring wonder with you. xoxoxo
I'm late to the party and so enjoying this exchange!
My experience with numbing is different, at least since a big "after" a couple years ago (just read Rita's last piece, so before/after is on my mind). I notice that I spend most of my alone time in quiet and I think perhaps I go deep into myself, shutting down almost, to numb. The outside world disappears, because often the outside world is just too much, too loud, too distracting. I need quiet to write and I walk with my thoughts, but sometimes, the quiet is too loud. I have to make a conscious effort to play music while I'm cooking, and then I love it, because my body remembers how much I love to dance, or I put on a podcast while I'm on a solitary walk, but then, sometimes I can't hear out of one ear for awhile due to compacted earwax from the earbuds, dry earwax something else that dries out during menopause. TMI, sorry lol. And sometimes I purposely don't want anything in my ears, because I'm walking amongst trees and want to hear the sounds of nature. Anyway, I think all these things we do, whether to go deep or to slow our thoughts, can serve us well however, whenever we need them. :)
I love this, Tracey- thank you! And never TMI- I am there with you going WTAF??!
I remember the first time a therapist said that of course I was anxious and I was dumbfounded because I didn't feel anxious, or what I thought anxious was. You know what they say about how it's hard to be conscious of water if it's the only thing you've ever lived in. Or something like that. Your list at the end is everything. I'm so glad you have those things.
oh this is so gorgeous and funny too, Monica. Like a little flash NF. Your voice is so clear here!
and sing yourself a lullaby. how utterly lovely and wonderful. xoxo
It really is!
This is a beautiful post. ❤️
Thank you 😊
“And the thing about fear is, when we’re afraid we tense up. That makes us skate on top of the ice, rather than into it, and that’s when our blades can slip.” This is so profound and right on time. This has been my experience learning physical skills like sailing and driving a stick shift, operating anything with multiple dials with calibrations and an instruction manual. Fear.
And: “ (I mean, my God, my hobby is strapping knives to boots and running on ice in them! But also: How much does this feel like an apt metaphor for living now, for how many of us?)”
The paradox of these two realities is the rub, right? Dig in, don’t look down, but skate like you know where your feet are and like you mean it.
I so admire your ability to even consider a hop on ice. There’s a big gap between the strides my brain is taking right now and the state of my body. The gap feels so big it feels impossible to reconcile and your description of accepting the skater you are now really resonates with me. Baby steps suck. Particularly when you are doing them again. Nobody told me how much of life is starting the same stuff over and over again . There’s such energy when you don’t know the reality of what you are doing, as you say so beautifully! The ability to start over again, knowing what you know is the bravest thing and takes a kind of strength only gained from time. Time on the ice, time lived, arcs of time completed happily and unhappily. Maybe that’s the definition of baggage? It gets harder to leap and turn when we’re like Max pulling our personal Grinch and his stuff uphill.
Thanks for this today.
Emily, your words are such a balm for me this morning. Yes, baby steps suck! And this: "Nobody told me how much of life is starting the same stuff over and over again ." And this: "The ability to start over again, knowing what you know is the bravest thing and takes a kind of strength only gained from time." So I'm giving them back to you, as you navigate the gaps between your brain and your body. Knowing your brain as I've come to, it does not surprise me that there is a gap--that brain is a fast-revving engine! May we all have soothing warm drinks and soft clothes in our day today. Or the equivalent of them in the form of words from friends.
Beautiful- thank you! 💜
oh my god yes! "Baby steps suck. Particularly when you are doing them again. Nobody told me how much of life is starting the same stuff over and over again." Nobody told me either! 🙄
Rita, I love this post so very much. I appreciate that you are willing to grow and change and face hard things and cheer us on for doing the same. I love your resiliency in the face of challenges. I love how you spin a metaphor. The idea of digging into the thing we can with confidence, while slowly (re)building our skills (or not, as wisdom and circumstances allow) resonates deeply is such a life lesson. And one I needed this week.
XOXO.
Thank you, Kate. I'm so glad to connect with you, that we've maintained a tie through so many changes and hard things in our lives and in the world. It's good to know that while I will likely not ever again spin on the ice, I can still spin a metaphor that works for you.
Have you heard of skate skiing? Do you have trails where you can do this near you? Having moved to western Mass where the winter is SERIOUS we need to embrace winter sports and all the gear to make it comfortable to be out there. I bought second hand snowshoes - never done that before! I'll also be getting back into skiing after a 14 year hiatus (not that I was any good at it) but I am also wondering if maybe cross country skiing might be more enjoyable to me and less fear-inducing. Anyway all this to say I've been watching some You Tube videos about skiing as mental preparation before my return to ski lesson and came across skate skiing! It looks really cool, like a mix of cross country skiing and ice skating, and you only go forwards. Maybe there is a way to channel what you can do and what you love to do with a new hobby that doesn't involve fear?
Congratulations are also due to us all for enjoying a year of your writing too :)
I have not heard of skate skiing! I came to skiing as an adult, and I liked it immediately because of the ways in which it was so much like skating. Haven't been a skier for about the same length of time you haven't been, though. I want to hear how it goes for you! I don't think those kind of winter sports are in my future (honestly, time in the lodge was always my favorite part, and now the drive is a huge deterrent) but I love the suggestion to think about things that have the same components of things I love without high levels of risk. What I really wish I could do is what my daughter is doing in Sweden: Outdoor skating. There are trails through woods and trees, and that, I think, would definitely not be boring. Do you have anything like that where you live?
There are so many outdoor skating opportunities here - the ponds are all frozen over. A few days ago Tom met a family ice skating after they shoveled off the powder to get to the ice below and later on met some guys ice fishing elsewhere. Outdoor skating through woods and trees would be incredible though and I don't think they have that here. That would be so peaceful! Sounds like a visit to Sweden in winter would be a pleasure to be able to do that!
Just this morning she sent me a video of them skating on a frozen lake. The city plows a path around the lake for people to skate on. It looks amazing! I'm actually going to get to visit in March. She assures me that it will still be winter, but not extreme winter. I'm so excited to see her new world in person.
How wonderful! So much to look forward to and enjoy while you are there!
You perfectly described the fears that can hold us back after trauma. I didn’t realize when I was younger how much I struggled with fear, but now it stares me in the face. I can get overwhelmed about the future if I dwell on my responsibilities in light of my physical limitations. Lean in, dig in, all these expressions are helpful reminders, but your illustrations on beginning in the easier areas gives me a more specific plan.
I hadn't thought specifically about trauma while writing this, but yes, of course. Thanks for helping me see that. I so appreciated that lesson with my coach because it gave me the same thing you're naming--some specific, concrete ways in (and, I hope, through).
Rita, your post is a beacon of wisdom and heart, and it's a comfort to know that I'm not alone in my thoughts and feelings. Your twist at the end, about the wisdom in allowing for change, is a perspective I find solace in. We're all in this together, facing a difficult January and the stress of the foreseeable future.
My mantra is that "The story just isn't over yet." Goodness always prevails; it just takes time. For now, I'm in winter mode, quietly hibernating until the sun shines again, 100 percent sure that just like spring follows winter, a gentler time will return.
I so hope you are right about goodness prevailing. And I’m right there with you in winter mode. I think we all need seasons of hibernation.
Rita, I’m just impressed that you strapped the knives back on! It is so hard to retrain your body (and brain!) to release that fear and tension after a fall, to get back out there. I am a “faller” and even though I love to skate, and try to embrace winter sports in general, I have a tendency to fall, which then just makes me give up. We went to a ski resort for the first time over the holidays, so our kids could ski every day and we could skate or snowshoe, hot tub, whatever. The first day I fell backwards (on Nordic skis, nobody could get me on a downhill slope), banged my head and twisted my ankle. I felt so ridiculous with all of these people surrounding me who were zipping around on skis and snowboards and skate skiing past me. I went back to our room and wallowed, like I just do not belong in this sporty world. Even my clothes are wrong.
Well, next morning I was like “this is a stupidly expensive place to wallow.” So I got one of those little-kid skate trainer things to hold onto so I could very slowly skate around the beautiful woodsy pond. I only gave it up when a very little boy asked if he could use it. 😊 The resort also had a tubing slope, which looked terrifying, but at least I couldn’t fall?? My daughters and I each got in a tube and held on to each other’s handles so we could go down together. I felt paralyzed with fear, honestly. It goes SO FAST. But then, I opened my eyes and looked up at the sky, the snowy trees flying past, felt the snowflakes on my face, the freezing wind and I just let go (not my bladder, I promise, although certainly that was an initial reaction) I just started laughing maniacally, alternating with shrieks when we caught some air over a bump, all the way down. Then I went back up and did it again.
Where was I going with this?? Oh yes, visiting the idea of being careworn instead of carefree.
I just want to find more carefree moments like that again, which is hard when everything seems like pure shite. We will never be the way we were, but there are still moments of pure, giddy joy and beauty. And honestly, the idea of gliding forward on skates to me is next level exhilarating, even without a twirl!
Oh Steph, I love everything about this story! I smiled at "this is a stupidly expensive place to wallow." And I LOVE that you used the trainer thing to get out there and be on the beautiful woodsy pond. Because the important thing, really, is being on the beautiful woodsy pond. (Saying that for myself. I need these reminders.) And tubing! We have a tubing place on our nearby mountain. I haven't been there is years now, but I used to love going there with our kids (when they were still kids). I love what you say about finding the carefree moments, even in the midst of pure shite. And this: "We will never be the way we were, but there are still moments of pure, giddy joy and beauty." I am learning how to mourn the loss of how we were, and how to do that without cutting off the moments of joy and beauty. It's a balancing act. Falling happens. When I was a kid, I learned that the key to falling without getting hurt was to stay relaxed. It was a lot easier then, but I'm trying to relearn that, too. Wishing you many, many carefree moments, no matter what the coming year brings.
"I’m thinking about what it means to dig into life when we know of its dangers in ways we never did before, but before we’ve had time to develop new networks we need to be secure in it."
Rita, I appreciate how you weave your story with our shared stories. As we approach the 20th, I can't even write what that day is, and I face the continuing devastation in LA-your post is encouraging.
I'm so glad to know this, Paulette. Thank you for telling me. I'll be thinking of you on Monday.
Thank you, Rita. I think I'll go hiking, weather permitting.
You have me thinking about what I want to do that day, and I appreciate that. I've been avoiding thinking about it. I know it will start with skating, but not sure after that. Take care. Hiking sounds like a great idea.
You too, Rita. We need to take special care these days and from now on. I've been living in suspended reality.
Rita, I am so grateful for this post. this, "I’m thinking about what it means to dig into life when we know of its dangers in ways we never did before, but before we’ve had time to develop new networks we need to be secure in it." and this, "Going deeper on the things I know I can do, the things I can do with joy. Going slowly, and with small steps, on things that feel shaky. Holding onto the wall if I have to, reminding myself that everything counts for building new neural pathways. Listening to my body’s signals and taking breaks when it is telling me that I need one. Better understanding the risks and rewards of what I’m doing." and strapping knives to our shoes and running on ice. such an apt metaphor and it made me laugh.
I feel like your post is another facet, next to my post from yesterday, on a gorgeous stone of how to move through this world as it is now, as it is becoming.
How to do deeper, go more slowly, I think what you're asking, noticing, is so similar to what I wrote about, this practice of knowing it's okay. not that everything is fine. but that we must find the ways to believe in each other, to hold on to what we believe in, even when it seem decimated and even unsafe, that it is okay to still have joy and play and love and it's okay to need to slow down and hold on to the wall sometimes.
I'm finding that wall to be the space here with you and other wonderful souls, the outdoors, my home, my friends. It's amazing how much abundance there is, even under the tyranny that is the state of the world.
Also, I did not know about your fall or your brain injury and your recovery. How brave you are to get back on the ice at all. AT ALL! I'm so impressed. And to deal with all of that and just keep up being human. That takes oodles of Grace, my friend, with a capital G.
The things I can dig into:
this space
writing
yoga on and off the mat (even though my body is old and my skin saggy and my joints stiff)
hugging trees and dogs
swimming
moving my body
being silly with my husband
talking to my mom
being with friends
buying a new pair of pants that don't dig into my waist or stick to my legs :)
Rita, this is brilliant! I could go on and on. This is even better than a gratitude list, because it has me thinking about things I can dig into. Get MORE deeply into and therefore get more out of.
Thank you thank you, lovely friend for this gift.
xoxoxo
I do see the connections between your essay this week and mine, for sure. I think there's a big shifting happening for many of us. I absolutely love your list of things to dig into (especially the pants! yes! also hugging trees and dogs) and I love the idea of thinking about how this is different from a gratitude list. I understand the value of a gratitude list, but I agree that a list of things to dig into is even better. It's a way to combine gratitude with action. You are giving me lots to think about here...going to have to let the bubbles simmer a bit.
I love the idea of noticing “what you can dig into.” I’ve never really enjoyed ice skating but that metaphor speaks to me.
I'm glad 🙂
(I mean, my God, my hobby is strapping knives to boots and running on ice in them! But also: How much does this feel like an apt metaphor for living now, for how many of us?)
I’m laughing so hard at this—it’s such a perfect metaphor for what we’re going through. Some days, it feels like I’m facing it all alone, bracing for what’s coming. But then Mike reminded me that millions of us feel this way. I think I forget sometimes that we’re all navigating this scary time together. It just feels so isolating, doesn’t it?
By the way, you are a badass. I just wanted to let you know. ❤️
Oh Rita…I can SO relate. {HUGS}
I know 💜
“'Where do I want to go now, and what can I do today to get me closer to that?' is the question I need to ask now." YES!!! And the answer for everyone is different.
For me, I don't want to get back to where I was, because where I was, was a mess. I dreamed of being a figure skater as a child, but would never have said it loud because 1. I didn't know dreams could come true, and 2. I was scared of falling. So, I read this piece with joy for younger you and awe over your determination to get back on the ice (but glad for your ultimate conclusion).
As a child, I wanted to be an adult, and I grew up too fast. I didn't have a carefree childhood because of a couple notable events that compounded on one another and stuck with me, settling into my body and brain, which I know now is PTSD (likely combined with other neurodivergencies). Discovering my biological paternity at 50, completely unraveling, then finally engaging in therapy and getting in touch with how my body stores feelings and letting those feelings out, has allowed me to experience the world with the childlike wonder I missed out on when I was young. Like, Monica, it was a switch, but in the opposite direction! I'm more carefree now – not reckless though, I don't think my anxiety will ever decrease enough to become reckless lol – but I feel the freedom in my body to do and say what feels right for me, and not to live to try and keep others happy.
Everything nature, enjoying outdoor activities gives me strength, confidence and joy. Long walks, challenging hikes, paddle boarding around the lake, making snowmen, noticing the beauty all around. And baking and eating chocolate chip cookies. And cooking and baking and feeding my grown children. And learning Italian. And writing and this writing community we're creating. :)
Your last paragraph feels like a prescription and a hug. I was one of those kids that adults described as "7 going on 37." That's never actually a sign of something good, is it? For a short while as a child, I was a figure skater, and I think my problems with my body started when I abruptly, completely, and irrevocably walked away from that. Or when that was the only solution I could find to the problem skating had become. It has been such a huge gift to return to it, and I completely relate to your words about experiencing the world with childlike wonder you missed out on when you were young. I love your words about feeling freedom in your body to do and say what feels right for you, and not trying to live to try and keep others happy.
I remember feeling proud when adults said that about me! So great that you were able to return to skating. More hugs to you! xo
It's been a difficult year so far seeing things fall apart. I'd suggest that if you aren't a little anxious right now, you might need to talk with a therapist. Kind of a reverse of the usual reason to go to therapy, but how could anyone not be anxious? I know that we'll all dig into life in our own ways, but never quite as confident as we once were. And that's where the sadness lives within me.
Oh, that old kind of confidence feels like a dream now. I miss it deeply.
Rita, my first response to this thoughtful and beautifully written essay is to thank you for your willingness to be vulnerable, honest, and to ask challenging questions. I get the sense that there aren't many 'out here' doing anywhere close to that level of introspection. That said, just look at the comments amassed here and how wonderfully attentive so many of them are!
I'm glad you and your coach work so well together and that you came around to talking about how much fear is embedded in you lack of joy. We all know the aphorism: What would you do if you weren't afraid? Maybe it's not about that. Maybe facing your fears and doing what you can to keep going -- just exactly what you're doing -- is really more constructive and realistic.
You are holding up at least half the sky, my friend. I applaud you for all the ways you are forging ahead and learning as you go. And I offer you gratitude for teaching me at the same time.