I pity the fool

[Orginally posted July, '21 on my old blog]

  Wow, it has been a hot minute since I've been on here. The last time I blogged, "hot minute" wasn't even a catchy phrase. But writing is therapy. And needing therapy is also very 2021 apropos. 

Yesterday morning I got up early for a big day ahead. 7:30 am, so maybe not award-winning early, but I didn't have my kids and it's summer so yeah, I take it back, award-winning it is! I rolled out my yoga mat and dove right in to an empowering flow. Strength. Flexibility. Courage. What a beautiful day. 

Hours later, my sister and I arrived in little Syracuse Utah for a family reunion. My aunts and uncles love boats and water so much they built themselves a lake so they could ski and wakeboard  any time they wanted. I think some of them might even compete. Anyway, I say my aunts and uncles, not my parents. I grew up land-locked and every few years got to ride on a boat, but never behind. It never occurred to me to water ski today and so I barely remembered to bring my suit, throwing it in the car last minute.

But then it was so hot I changed into it right when we got there. And then not many people had arrived yet so then why shouldn't I try to ski? It would be such a brave thing to do. It'd be the "holy fool" thing to do. Something I'm learning about from Jordan Peterson where you embrace being the bottom of whatever hierarchy--in this case, water sports..in my case,  any sports. Water, boats, or drowning doesn't scare me but being a fool and a failure in public does. My 500 cousins now have 5000 little 4-year old kids that can ski. I'm nearing 40 and have attempted water-skiing one other time I think. Even now, see how I'm trying to justify my inadequacy with explanations and excuses so I don't look quite so lame? But true confidence is the ability to be okay being the worst one in the room, or in this case, lake. I want that confidence! So I said, "I would like to try." My uncle was confident I'd have no trouble getting up. Piece of cake. 

And I did. Try, that is. My first go I was so close. I was pulled along on the skis halfway up, butt dragging, for so long I had time to offer up a few prayers: "Dear Lord, please help me get up." My prayers were interrupted with vague memories of jokes I'd heard in the boat as a kid. Realization hit me harder than the enema. "Oh!! I get that word and the joke now! Back to praying, "Lord this could be such a beautiful story of an old-- uh, that is, incredibly beautiful woman conquering the sea-- her modern day Moby Dick. Scarlett Johansson could play me in the movie. A moving tale of beating the odds, miracles, and an old incredibly beautiful dog learning new tricks.

Each successive attempt I got worse, to tell you the truth. The strength I felt during yoga I could not harness into keeping my legs together. And quickly my 15 minutes were up. Heavenly Father did not answer my prayer. Or. He masterfully did as my original intent was not actually to ski but to practice confidence being the fool. And practice I did. Go me.

Following that failure/success I rode on the raft with my sister. Now this was a piece of cake and I enjoyed every second of the waves and speed. At one point I was flung off and looking at the mountainous raft I knew I was up for another challenge. I got stuck in the process, resembling a beached whale stranded mermaid? and I had to use my sister as leverage and climb on top of her. We started laughing hysterically and could not stop, making it almost impossible to get back on. I wish we had pictures. 

That night after driving home, I sent a marco polo to my dear Amy explaining all my bravery, including the approaching and visiting 10,000 relatives I barely, or don't know, or have lost touch with when it would have been much easier to stick to myself. I went to bed content. What a beautiful day. 

When I woke up, more yoga because I also have a goal to do yoga every day until forever, and just see what happens. At some point I should put an end date on it, as "forever" might not be super realistic. I guess now's as good as any. How about Christmas? That's roughly 6 months. Thanks for holding me accountable, blog. 

At the end of my yoga practice, Adriene suggested some donkey kicks, just for fun. And good for handstands (which is another pipe dream of mine.) But I wasn't feeling fun and my heart wasn't in it. I felt a little down. Maybe I was just tired. So I laid down in glorious Shavasana when I got a text from Amy. She was so proud of me. And said I was her hero. With several exclamation marks. I just checked. Okay two exclamation marks. But two exclamation marks full of admiration. 

And with no warning to me, the floods came up, surging through my body, and spilling out of my eyes. And the rains came down, streaming down my face as it screwed up into confused hurting and I audibly sobbed. What is happening to me? Why the heck am I crying? Why am I not stopping? This was both bizarrely funny and so sad. I rolled onto my side and could not stop. Just like yesterday. Only pain, not joy. 

Being the holy fool in my head is one thing. Someone knowing it and hearing it back from her is another. And apparently too much for my fragile lil' ego to handle. Her loving response just revealed the absolute eye-rolling ridiculousness of the whole thing. No I'm not brave for being the fool. I'm just a fool. A loser who can't water ski, even on big wide skis that's supposed to make it a piece of cake. In fact, if I could water ski, I bet I wouldn't even be single right now. To rewind real quick, six months ago I had met somebody and it didn't take long before I thought he was the moon and the stars. And he thought the same about me. Until, he didn't. I bet he could sense that I couldn't ski. And therefore could sense how not cool I was. Because I was always talking too much about all the books and podcasts and trying to be smart. This calls for so many more eye-rolls. 

Of course that's all nonsense. Nonsense I halfsie believe. I'm not usually a thirteen-year-old girl. Except when I am and my tears don't care about logic or courage or being a grown-up. So maybe I'm brave sometimes, and a loser sometimes. And cool and not cool. And very happy, and also full of tears. Eventually they dried up and I went about my day. I got some lunch, did some chores and ran some errands. While returning a dress, I randomly spotted a necklace I just saw the hostess at Milner's wearing two days ago and thought, I want that! Miracle! I read, and also listened to a podcast, and then watched The Chosen. I took care of my neighbor's dogs, talked to a friend outside, and played the piano. And now wrote all about it. It was a beautiful day.