God blessed me.
I got lucky.
All the stars aligned.
I chose to be vulnerable.
Which of those statements is the most accurate representation of the story I am about share with you? I’ll let you decide.
Sometimes I am… not graceful. Clumsy might even be an accurate word.
I am *that* person. I have tripped (over nothing) walking down a hallway. I have run into walls, doors and people- all while looking right at them – yet completely oblivious to their proximity to me.
One day, I was sitting at my desk at work when I just fell off my chair. With a huge THUD. I was so shocked that I lay there on the floor, momentarily stunned, then quickly popped up and sat down on my chair again, pretending nothing had happened. My boss came rushing out of his office, positive I had knocked myself unconscious.
Over time, and due to the frequency of my mishaps, a thud followed by a sharp inhalation of breath no longer caused coworkers to look up in alarm; they just knew it was me being… me.
There is nothing wrong with my balance, my inner ear or my nervous system. Sometime I just get so engrossed in what I am doing or thinking, that the rest of my senses (like my sense of balance, depth perception, etc.) tune themselves out.. That, along with my intermittent lack of coordination, means that I am not particularly good at sports. When I was in my mid/late thirties, I thought it would be fun to take up snowboarding as a way to get outdoors in the winter, bond with my children, and challenge myself to grow in a new way. I was going through a divorce at the time and I was working four (yes FOUR) jobs to make ends meet. One of those jobs was a part-time gig at The Sports Authority. My part-time job there made it much more affordable to outfit myself and two (growing) children with a full set-up of snowboarding gear and clothing. However, instead of actual lessons (which were outside my budget), my kids and I learned how to snowboard under the tutelage of a very patient friend. After a few lessons, it became blatantly obvious that my kids had a knack for snowboarding, and I did not.
After my 2nd concussion (one mild and one not so mild (hello ER & CT scan!)), my family doctor told me to “find a new hobby. You’re not very good at this one.”
Consequently, I hadn’t attempted another outdoor sport (beyond hiking) since then, and it had been more than a decade.
It was a neighbor (Thank you Tod!) who encouraged me to try cross country skiing. He offered to help me pick out skis, and once I had all the gear I needed, he took me out to a local park and painstakingly began the process of trying to teach me how to cross country ski.
It took a while. When I say “a while”, I mean it took years. YEARS! I was reluctant to go, and my reluctance came from my unwillingness to look foolish in front of other people. As a result, my ego caused me to decline most of his invitations the first two years I owned my skis. I wouldn’t go, so there was no chance of me getting any better. Yet he persisted in encouraging me. By year three, I decided I was willing to really try, even though I was sure it would be mean public humiliation.
But a funny thing happened. Despite vastly superior skiers passing me left and right on the trails, nobody laughed at me. Nobody growled impatiently about how slowly I moved on the tracks. There was no chastisement about the body prints I left in the snow that ruined small sections of track every time I fell. People just smiled encouragingly and occasionally offered helpful advice.
Nonetheless, I couldn’t get out of my own head, and my insecurities caused me to minimize my time on the trails. I was invited to join various people and groups that were going out, and I wanted to go, but I didn’t want to be the slow person holding up the group. Over and over, I declined multiple invitations, denying myself the opportunity for fun, fresh air, camaraderie, and a chance to improve my skills.
Have you ever been your own worst enemy? I certainly was (and sometimes still am).
Finally, I gathered up my courage and swallowed my pride. I posted on Facebook that I was terrible at cross country skiing, but I wanted to get out and practice with other novices. I asked if anyone else was equally terrible and wanted to join me.
And that is how it began…
Multiple friends pinged me on Messenger, commented on Facebook or sent me a text message. They all had similar responses to my post.
“Me too.”
I’m not very good either and I want to get better.”
I want to learn, but I don’t want to learn by myself.”
“My other friends have been cross country skiing for years and I don’t go with them because I don’t want to be the slow person holding up the group.”
Every single message (and there were more than 1/2 dozen) culminated with the sender asking to join me cross country skiing. They asked because they knew they would be not only accepted, but joyfully welcomed as another novice who was willing to get out there and just do the best they could.
My willingness to admit my inadequacies allowed others around me to unmask and show themselves as equally vulnerable (and consequently courageous).
I started meeting up with various friends who were novices. We’d meet after work and on weekends. Anytime two or more of us were free at the same time, we would meet and cross country ski together. Sometimes it was just two or three of us, sometime there would be five or six of us. Regardless of how big (or small) our group was, it was always fun and encouraging.
Eventually, we started a group text so that any of us could throw out an invitation to the others to ski, rather than me being the primary coordinator. We had to keep starting new chats as more ladies joined the group and wanted to be included. The text chat group was becoming unwieldy, but the camaraderie made it worthwhile, and each of us knew that we could always invite others to join us, and be confident that everyone else in the group would cheerfully welcome newcomers.
When spring came and the snow started to melt, we talked about hiking together over the summer (didn’t happen), and promised to meet up next winter. Winter is finally upon us again, and we’ve started the text chats to meet up and ski. We’ve had one meetup so far, and cancelled a second (below zero temperature have been a deterrent), but we all agree that we are looking forward to a winter of camaraderie and skiing. We are committed to welcoming other newcomers, slowly improving, and encouraging each other along the way. This support allow us to step outside of our comfort zones and be willing to try new things, even if it means being bad at it long enough to get good at it (or at least get better).
So, what was it?
Was it God blessing me?
Did I just get lucky?
Could it be because all the stars aligned?
Or was it because I chose to be vulnerable?
Probably all of the above. But more than anything, my greatest takeaway was this: Even when I think I am, I am never really alone-I’m not alone in my insecurities, my inadequacies, or my uncertainties. And once I admitted to them, they were quickly vanquished by the encouragement and camaraderie of friends.
So, to all of you imperfect people out there, doing the very best you can, I want to say this: You are my people. We are the people who love the imperfections and inadequacies as much (or more) than we love the total “perfect” package. Authenticity, vulnerability and courage triumph again.
“If we have a friend, or small group of friends, or family who embraces our imperfections, vulnerabilities, and power, and fills us with a sense of belonging, we are incredibly lucky.”
