Choices

It was New Year’s Eve in 1996 and I was 12 years old, just old enough to feel the pangs of embarrassment for spending the new year at home with my parents instead of out with friends. Like many young girls around that age I was feeling the pressure of making friends and having a difficult time managing the ever changing social rules. I’m sure these feelings of inadequacy, loneliness, and rejection further contributed to my responses of later in the evening but aside from trying keep them from my parents I thought of it little.

It was an Olympic year that year. My mom and I (possibly all of us) were watching figure skating on television. At that time, figure skating rivaled football as the most watched sport and both my sister and I had spent years learning how to skate. In my naïveté, I was still envisioning myself as someone with Olympic potential. No, my parents did not fuel this dream. They knew all too well that I was never going to make it big but they liked that I enjoyed it and had created their own sort of social life around it.

I didn’t need their encouragement. In my head I would envision myself stepping onto the ice looking at those 5 rings, take a deep breath, and await my music. My fantasies even included imaginary commentary by legendary icons like Dick Button and Peggy Flemming. Placing a pair of headphones over my ears, I’d press play for the song I’d envision myself skating to and get lost in a world where people noticed me and I was really good at something. Sadly, when I the headphones would come off and I would join my parents for dinner, I did not fully internalize the reality—being an Olympic figure skater was never in the cards. Not even close.

Ever since I was a little girl, I gave off the impression that I was far more practical. I was a logical thinker and I don’t think my parents ever really understood the flights of fancy and delusions of grandeur I entertained in my head. Idealistic by nature, I had grown up believing that if you worked hard at something and really wanted it that it could be achieved. Nothing was impossible to me at the time but this New Year’s Eve I found myself facing my first harsh reality.

The events of the memory are blurry and disconnected; like most memories about events and experiences long gone. I remember some things vividly - where I was exactly when I realized that I would never amount to what I envisioned myself to be. I remember my father yelling at me asking me what my problem was not quite realizing the magnitude of this moment; not fully comprehending that I was only just now figuring that dreams don’t come true no matter how hard you work for them or how badly you want them. This was a lesson he probably learned at a much younger age and always being far more controlled emotionally handled it silently.

It was hard to maintain my composure with the constant questioning as it became clear that my parents always knew I was never going to get there and were completely blown away that I didn't know that as well.  Their "what did you expect" line of questioning only made me feel more upset, angry, and irrational. Self-soothing. It's something we learn as babies but rarely remember as adults. Sadly, my parents were not in my head or my heart. They did not understand where I was coming from and therefore could not give me what I needed at the time so after spending a good amount of time on the floor crying I began to give it to myself.

Earlier this year, I blamed my quitting and not getting as far in skating on Greg but that's only half true. I also need to accept some responsibility because it was also my choice and it was a choice I made long before I met Greg. It was a choice I made sitting on the floor against my bed consoling myself that New Year's Eve night. As the weight of my never being an Olympian settled I considered quitting entirely but that wasn't enough. Quitting didn't reconcile falter thinking so I quickly determined that changing the way I thought about it would ease the pain. Suddenly, it wasn't about competition and training; it became about setting small goals and having fun. If I couldn't be a great skater, then why waste time trying so hard?

Initially, this logic made sense as I set achievable goals and worked really hard toward reaching them. I became known as a wonderful performer and I thrived in skating solos. Competitions were different; I could fall all over the place but it would be done with a smile. I thought myself so much more enlightened as I watched my friends work and work and work as if they thought they were going to make it to the Olympics.  I quietly judged them when they gave up their social life in high school for a life at the rink: I wasn't missing out on my high school experience, you see. I was acting in theater and hanging out with friends. I was crushing on and eventually dating boys. I wasn't tied down to the ice.

All these year later however, I strongly question that train of thought. Just because I wasn't made of Olympic material didn't mean that all the opportunities skating offered were gone. I just didn't realize them with this newly found attitude of "it has to be fun." It wasn't clear to me that I could continue to work just as hard and possibly get a scholarship to college. When I began coaching and teaching the sport, I found nothing else to be as fulfilling. By the time I realized that I needed to really work to attain the levels needed to become a decent coach I had already spent so many years altering my thoughts away from that kind of work. I was involved in the theater and a social life outside of school. I was also involved with Greg which is the other half of this quitting equation.

I'll be honest. I look back with disappointment at my choice. I would not trade my high school or theater experiences for the world but I could have done both. I could have continue to train and push myself while I was there to just reach those levels but I didn't. Then, of course, there was Greg. Would I have quit if it had meant more to me than just something I enjoyed? Would I have quit if I truly thought I could create a career with it? Maybe I would have but I'll never know.

As I sit here, calling nurse practitioners about a job where they can visit patients at their homes for an hour and earn $75, I think about the opportunity I missed out on. Even with the bad economy, those who want to skate, the kind of people I skated with, will pay for lessons. They would pay me to coach them if I had the skating levels. The level that I'm at now would earn me very, very little but had I put in just a little more work and pushed myself a little bit harder, I too could be coaching. I would make a very good coach. There are times when I find myself thinking about it longingly; wishing and regretting. To try and get back into now seems futile. The amount of money and time and training to get there is enormous and by the time it happened; no one is going to want a coach who hasn't done it in ten or so years.

No, unfortunately that boat came and that boat left and I made excuses as to why I couldn't get on it. I missed that one and sitting here calling these people, I am realizing that I don't want to miss another one. There's a part of me that is still an undeterred idealist. I still believe that there is a profession out there that I will find somewhat fulfilling. I want more than I have right now bound by a ringing telephone. Sure working 15 hour days sucks but I didn't let this opportunity pass me and I finally feel open to world beyond me. I know the inevitable question will be, "what about going back to teaching?" I'm not there yet. I don't know if I'll ever get back there because the combination of fear and pain still continues to get the better of me. Maybe I'll get back there someday; just not now. I need to see what else there could be; maybe there's something that combines the best of teaching and coaching (yes, they are very different).

I don't know the answers right now but it's very late. I've had a long work day and I have to do it all over again tomorrow so it's time for me to sleep.