When I was younger, I used to be a figure skater.
When I was younger, I used to tell people I wasted 16 years of my life on the ice. Skating. Falling. Skating some more. But mostly falling.
I used to dream about skating. Late at night, my body twitching in bed. Dogs run in their sleep when they are happy. I would skate in my mind.
Sometimes I would only see the crowd. Their reactions. My parents. They rush up to their feet to cheer when I nail my jumps. They cheer when I grinned at them. It was never a big arena though. Size didn't matter.
Other times, I could only hear music. The final piece I chose for the program that turned out to be my last (toccata and fugue). I still remember the routine four years later.
I would relive the late nights I sacrificed spending with my friends for. The times I could have been at parties. Making friends. Dating boys. Those Friday nights I would stay at the rink til 11pm, skating alone. Tracing circles. Replaying my tape again and again. Smelling the ice. Sitting on it, analyzing my motions. Alone. No one was ever there. The pictures of past champions from the club stared at me. Fulfilled?
After I quit, I hated skating for a long time. I hated my body. This stupid body that wouldn't let me do what I wanted. My heart would ache when I heard my music. My $800 skates collected dust. My dreams turned to nightmares where I sat on the ice, with no legs. The crowd that knew my every move was now mocking me.
I hated my mom for making me watch international competitions on television. People asked me why I quit skating, and I would say I was busy with school. Work. Stuff. But it was really just me. Me and my fears of inadequacy and failure. Perfection is a bitch.
I went out a few times this winter. I did some tricks. So now I skate from time to time. It's still there, waiting under my nerves. I watched a buddy of mine I used to train with win a gold medal at the Olympics. I now no longer tell people I wasted 16 years of my life. I tell them I used to skate. And that I was good. But that I don't miss it.
I don't have any more nightmares. Or dreams about skating, for that matter.
Perhaps the demon is dead.
But the quest for perfection still hangs over my head.
...
In the color of the night
And all the smoke for one life
Leads way to shaky movement, Improvisation skills
A forest of whispering speakers, Let's swear that we will
Get with the times
In a current health to stay
Let's get friendship right, Get life day to day
In the forget yer skates dream
Full of countervailing woes
In Diverse as ever scenes
Proceeding on a need to know
In a face so full of meaning
As to almost make glow
For the good life we just might have to weaken
And find somewhere to go
(let's )Go somewhere we're needed
Find somewhere to grow
(we) Grow somewhere we're needed
tragically hip, it's a good life if you don't weaken...inspiration for today's breakthrough.
When I was younger, I used to tell people I wasted 16 years of my life on the ice. Skating. Falling. Skating some more. But mostly falling.
I used to dream about skating. Late at night, my body twitching in bed. Dogs run in their sleep when they are happy. I would skate in my mind.
Sometimes I would only see the crowd. Their reactions. My parents. They rush up to their feet to cheer when I nail my jumps. They cheer when I grinned at them. It was never a big arena though. Size didn't matter.
Other times, I could only hear music. The final piece I chose for the program that turned out to be my last (toccata and fugue). I still remember the routine four years later.
I would relive the late nights I sacrificed spending with my friends for. The times I could have been at parties. Making friends. Dating boys. Those Friday nights I would stay at the rink til 11pm, skating alone. Tracing circles. Replaying my tape again and again. Smelling the ice. Sitting on it, analyzing my motions. Alone. No one was ever there. The pictures of past champions from the club stared at me. Fulfilled?
After I quit, I hated skating for a long time. I hated my body. This stupid body that wouldn't let me do what I wanted. My heart would ache when I heard my music. My $800 skates collected dust. My dreams turned to nightmares where I sat on the ice, with no legs. The crowd that knew my every move was now mocking me.
I hated my mom for making me watch international competitions on television. People asked me why I quit skating, and I would say I was busy with school. Work. Stuff. But it was really just me. Me and my fears of inadequacy and failure. Perfection is a bitch.
I went out a few times this winter. I did some tricks. So now I skate from time to time. It's still there, waiting under my nerves. I watched a buddy of mine I used to train with win a gold medal at the Olympics. I now no longer tell people I wasted 16 years of my life. I tell them I used to skate. And that I was good. But that I don't miss it.
I don't have any more nightmares. Or dreams about skating, for that matter.
Perhaps the demon is dead.
But the quest for perfection still hangs over my head.
...
In the color of the night
And all the smoke for one life
Leads way to shaky movement, Improvisation skills
A forest of whispering speakers, Let's swear that we will
Get with the times
In a current health to stay
Let's get friendship right, Get life day to day
In the forget yer skates dream
Full of countervailing woes
In Diverse as ever scenes
Proceeding on a need to know
In a face so full of meaning
As to almost make glow
For the good life we just might have to weaken
And find somewhere to go
(let's )Go somewhere we're needed
Find somewhere to grow
(we) Grow somewhere we're needed
tragically hip, it's a good life if you don't weaken...inspiration for today's breakthrough.
