Tonight in my town, the roller skating rink will host a free “Family Roller Skating Party” just for our elementary school. While my children jump up and down, clapping their hands in anticipation of this event, I’m shaking in my boots.
I’m going to put on those roller skates, wobble and tumble out into the rink, and make a complete fool of myself. I’ll probably end up hospitalized.
What happened to the fearless me? As I think about the joy of roller skating, I consider the beauty of gliding. To glide means to move smoothly across a surface without effort. You push off and slide, letting physics take over. You don’t have to do anything but cooperate.
Most children tend to do this automatically after a few falls. They find equilibrium and stay balanced on these bizarre rolling contraptions. They speed by, skating even backwards and under limbo sticks.
Uncooperative me can learn a lot tonight. I need to push off and glide. I need to surrender to whatever lies under my feet, cooperating with the kind of joy that might just send me into fabulous twirls, backward moves, and limbo stick bends.
I want to live like one on roller skates: I move smoothly as I surrender and cooperate.
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Journal: What am I resisting that I need to surrender to and cooperate with?