How to Be Brave By Simply Changing Your Shoes
Some have nightmares of monsters, or killers, or war. My nightmares are of crows feet or creaking knees or silence. Still, I don’t fear the age of my body as much as the decay of my spirit. The start of ending, without having ever really begun. I promised myself when I graduated business college, I would never stop learning, stay a student forever. Six years into the cubicle life, I realize my vigor for change has started to wane.
When I walked out of my last grad class and into my first job, I swore I would never be afraid to leap, or most importantly to fall. Hopeful, youthful, unknowing. As those first few minutes on my own turned into months that morphed into years, I find myself deep in a path that seems too straight, too quickly heading to a picket fence. How long before I accept another raise and bury away a drive for greater things? At what point am I too old to start over, too experienced to switch lanes? When will comfort take place of purpose?
To answer these questions, I sought a sage in a pair of rollerskates. When my sister ran into my room demanding I buy a pair, I immediately said no. It was foolish, I’m too old, my knees already squeak, I could get hurt, I could fall. I heard the cranky old woman in my voice and was baffled at when she came in and started speaking on my behalf. I saw the sparkle in my sister’s eyes and wondered why mine were dull. Not totally silenced, I nodded my head, and we found the sparkliest, pinkest pair and became PhDs in USPS tracking.
It took several weeks for them to arrive — just enough time for me to start believing I could do this, to imagine my twirls, my jumps, my incredible moonwalking. It made me consider if it was time for a nose ring and pink hair. I started poking around on job sites, wondering if I had a shot at something that didn’t involve excel. FINALLY they arrived, and I was absolutely certain this was my time, this was the start to being the girl of my dreams.
We drove to the nearest park and I eagerly sat on the ground, carefully twisting and turning the teal laces. Shakily I stood up and then, absolute panic set in. What. The. Hell. Have. I. DONE. Morgan unfettered pushes me off, not warning me we were on a slope ensuring my first steps would be launched at full speed. Barely balancing I careened down the hill screaming important things like “MORGAN” and “I’M DYING” and “MORGAN” and then primarily, “MORGAN” until I grabbed her arm to ensure we crash landed together, to facilitate bonding and all. Immediately all notions of professional dance skater evaporated and were quickly replaced by hysteria. I regretted being brave, listening to my dare devil sibling, investing $100 in this stupid death shoe, eating breakfast that morning. Paralyzed on the ground, I accepted my fate to be boring and apologized to all my shoes without wheels for ever even thinking of this affair.
Morgan, or should I say “MORGAN” is a bull about things. Barely giving me enough time to catch my breath and burst into tears she launches me back on my feet. Holding my hand she speaks through the red haze in my eyes and says “Push off your right foot, now your left.” We seesaw between feet, and I somehow stay upright despite now owning a pair of jello legs. Eventually I realize that contrary to popular opinion, I am not dying, and surprisingly my heart did not implode. I decide to be just wild and let her hand go, shakily pushing between right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. This appears to be going well. The universe stabilizes. After about 20 minutes of staring at my feet, I start to really push the limits and look around. Now that I can look up, Morgan slowly shows me how to turn. More shock —
I have still not cracked open my head! Since I’m just completely insane now, I see a small hill and curiosity pushes me to see what I do with a little speed. Pushing into descent, the butterflies in my stomach take off and I reach the bottom — STILL NOT DEAD! This is astonishing, this is miraculous, but somehow I survived the challenge that was previously unimaginable in under 45 minutes.
Morgan does circles around me, but I don’t care, too wrapped up in that warm feeling of something new to be bothered with competition. The ride home is full of smiles as I look out the window, feeling exceptionally brave. Maybe, just maybe, I’m not too old to change. Perhaps if I can do something as terrifying as putting on shoes with wheels, I could do something like take a career leap, or get a nose ring. The ultimate sign of happiness, I sing along with Morgan, windows rolled down.
I realize this particular act probably does not seem brave. No one’s life will be forever impacted just because I learn to skate. There are no goals of being pro, or even learning any real tricks. Putting on a pair of shoes was bravery just for me. The reminder I am not as afraid as I think. That no matter how my body decays, my mind can still be racing, willing to try one more thing. Courage is not a gift, it’s a muscle. Trying new things is not a preference, it’s a skill. These things can be learned, and they can be lost. Change can happen with jumps that cross space, or just lacing up a pair of rollerskates.