Why You Might Want to Suck at Something
On Saturday morning, I bundled up and headed to the local ice rink with Adam, for the first of our skating lessons. We weave our way through the crowded waiting area, full of hockey kids who are already much better at skating than I will ever be, hockey moms and dads, wrangling their other kids in the madness. The concession is doing a brisk business filling the air and the hungry kids alike with popcorn and hot dogs.
Side note: “Rink” is one of those words. You know those words that, when you say them enough, stop having any meaning and just sound like a funny thing to say? Rink, rink, rink.
Why am I taking skating lessons for the first time ever, at the age of 43? Well, there are several reasons. It seems like a fun thing to do, and while I’m fairly proficient at the basics of skating, I’ve never, ever been able to stop, unless you count smashing into the boards, which doesn’t really count. In my defense, I learned to skate on frozen ponds outside, so stopping was a case of falling into the snow at the edge.
Every time I go skating, which is not all that often, I find myself thinking that skating is fun and I would like to do it more often, and also that I wish I could stop. Whenever I try to stop, I just start spinning around in circles, which is definitely something I’m not qualified to do on skates.
We are taking skating lessons as a fun thing to do together on a Saturday morning, and also because we’re never going to get better at it if we don’t actually do it. Skating, like most things, is not a theoretical activity. Thinking, on its own, about the mechanics of stopping, skating backwards and — the scariest — crossovers is not likely to see me be physically able to do it. I need to actually get on the ice and try.
Do I have moments of embarrassment? I sure do. Pretty much everyone else my age is there with their kids, while I’m lacing up my rented skates (and secretly wishing I had a dad on hand to lace mine up tighter). The adult skating lesson takes place on one half of the ice, while the other half is filled with kids who are about 4 to 6 years old.
I am afraid of falling, a little because it would be embarrassing, but mostly because unlike the kiddos sharing the ice with us, I am not four feet tall and mostly made of rubber. I know from past experience I’m not great at falling; I tend to tense up and that results in sprains and snaps. <<shudders>>
In order to learn how to skate, or skate better, I need to start where I am, at the beginning, not where I want to be or wish I already was. I need to be willing to be bad at it before I get better. I need to be willing to be a beginner, and to do that, I need to be willing to humble myself enough to suck at the thing I’m trying to learn or improve. It’s possible I might not actually suck at it, even, or not for long, but the important thing is that I’m willing to suck at it in the beginning, or for as long as I need to.
In order to become awesome at something, or even just reasonably proficient, I need to start. Starting new or important things often feels intimidating, especially if I have expectations of being a prodigy at everything I do, the first time I do it (which, for the record, are expectations I traditionally have held). I need to be willing to not be awesome at it immediately upon beginning, as much as I’d prefer that option.
I need to be willing to fall down and accept that if I’m really going to let myself learn, try and practice, I’m going to fall. Importantly, I need to be willing to fall down, so that I can learn that falling down is okay, I am okay, and to learn how to get myself back up again. Skating so as to avoid falling is not the same as learning how to skate well. I need to be clear that my goal is to be good at what I want to get good at — stopping, skating backwards and crossovers — not simply to avoid falling down.
I’m clear that I’m not just talking about skating here. I’m talking about doing anything new, or anything that means something to me, but feels daunting. Anything that might be challenging that I don’t already know how to do.
My tendency toward perfectionism often costs me the very experience I am seeking. From my fear of failing, I won’t try, just in case I might fail. But that means life starts to feel small and boring, stuck inside with only things I already know how to do. Playing only if I know for sure that I’ll win leaves a very limited set of options. From perfectionism, a lot of my goals are outside the bounds of my pride and my fear.
Being willing to suck at something is no guarantee that I’ll get good at it, but being unwilling to suck at something will definitely guarantee that I never find out. So for me, that means I’ll be lacing up my skates and getting out onto the ice to find out what I can do, what I suck at, and how to get better.
