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It's really hard to adequately express how much more I love being an adult, as opposed to being a child. I know my childhood wasn't particularly filled with angst or hardship or anything - actually, I had it pretty damn good, what with never doubting I would have enough to eat and having a pretty good relationship with my mom - but seriously, it doesn't compare to adulthood. I enjoy life so much more as an adult than I ever did as a child. I have so much more control over it.
We went skiing today. Yes, it's related.
I went skiing every single Saturday through the winter for a lot of my childhood. I hated it. A lot. Never got past Beginner - practiced snowplowing, for several hours each lesson, several weeks every winter, badly, for years. I was cold, I was scared of falling, I was awful at it. When I was finally allowed to stop doing it, I breathed a huge sigh of relief and vowed nobody would ever get me back on a ski hill again as long as I lived.
And a few years later, when my high school's French teachers planned a field trip to St. Donat (three-day French immersion in a small Quebec ski town) I jumped at the chance. Had a blast, got to Intermediate level with lightning speed, and enjoyed myself on the hills as I never had as a child.
I think the trip was offered twice and I went both times (or maybe I'm thinking of two trips to the Stratford Festival, offered by the English department... like I said, I never exactly worried where my next meal was coming from) and I've gone skiing a few times since then, and it's been great every time. I'm at ease up there. I enjoy it. The whole thing is great - up to and including that lovely moment at the end of the day when you take off those clunky ski boots and your feet just about sing with delight at the freedom.
It's a question of choice and mindfulness, I think. And self-confidence. I now choose to go skiing - and skating, and biking, and soccer-playing and TaeKwon-Do-ing, and all these other physical activities I find myself involved in. And I'm there, in the moment, experiencing it while it happens instead of gritting my teeth and enduring it till I can go do enjoyable things, like watch TV or read, without feeling guilty that I haven't moved off my butt in days.
And I'm not tensed against failure, either. I know I'll probably fail/fall. Maybe even get hurt. But that's just part of it, and whether we're talking looking like an idiot, or falling, or any other injury to the body or spirit, it's almost never lasting or even terribly unpleasant. Certainly not nearly as unpleasant as it is to be so terrified of failure that you can't enjoy what you're doing.
Anyway. It was a lovely day, even though we had to drive forever in freaking Quebec to get there, maudit tabarnac. Chris and I decided there must be different rules for putting up road signs in Quebec. Like, in Ontario it probably says something like, "Upcoming roads shall be indicated at 500m, and an arrow shall point in the direction of the road to be taken directly before the road itself." Quebec rules must say "Upcoming roads will be indicated at 2km, with an arrow pointing in the direction of the road to be taken three roads before you're actually supposed to turn onto it, just to give people lots of warning." Possibly there is also an addendum saying, "And if you can manage to make the arrow point right at a road that has nothing to do with where folks are trying to go, for god's sake, go for it. Damn Anglos don't know how to drive. Maudit câlice."
Anyway, we got there and got our skis, got the kids going, and had a bit of a time because although they had gone skiing before, it was a long time ago and Justin couldn't stay up on the skis. There was some angst re. grabbing on to the t-bar as well, and some falling off the lift. A spot of crying from Justin, a short freak-out from Daniel.
And otherwise, two happy kids who were both skiing pretty well by the end of the day, two parents who wished they'd been able to go on the longer runs and vowed to ski in Ontario next time, but were otherwise pretty damn pleased. Justin asked if we could come skiing again, not next year, but some time this year. And yeah, definitely.
::happy sigh:: I love being a grown-up. I love being a parent.
We went skiing today. Yes, it's related.
I went skiing every single Saturday through the winter for a lot of my childhood. I hated it. A lot. Never got past Beginner - practiced snowplowing, for several hours each lesson, several weeks every winter, badly, for years. I was cold, I was scared of falling, I was awful at it. When I was finally allowed to stop doing it, I breathed a huge sigh of relief and vowed nobody would ever get me back on a ski hill again as long as I lived.
And a few years later, when my high school's French teachers planned a field trip to St. Donat (three-day French immersion in a small Quebec ski town) I jumped at the chance. Had a blast, got to Intermediate level with lightning speed, and enjoyed myself on the hills as I never had as a child.
I think the trip was offered twice and I went both times (or maybe I'm thinking of two trips to the Stratford Festival, offered by the English department... like I said, I never exactly worried where my next meal was coming from) and I've gone skiing a few times since then, and it's been great every time. I'm at ease up there. I enjoy it. The whole thing is great - up to and including that lovely moment at the end of the day when you take off those clunky ski boots and your feet just about sing with delight at the freedom.
It's a question of choice and mindfulness, I think. And self-confidence. I now choose to go skiing - and skating, and biking, and soccer-playing and TaeKwon-Do-ing, and all these other physical activities I find myself involved in. And I'm there, in the moment, experiencing it while it happens instead of gritting my teeth and enduring it till I can go do enjoyable things, like watch TV or read, without feeling guilty that I haven't moved off my butt in days.
And I'm not tensed against failure, either. I know I'll probably fail/fall. Maybe even get hurt. But that's just part of it, and whether we're talking looking like an idiot, or falling, or any other injury to the body or spirit, it's almost never lasting or even terribly unpleasant. Certainly not nearly as unpleasant as it is to be so terrified of failure that you can't enjoy what you're doing.
Anyway. It was a lovely day, even though we had to drive forever in freaking Quebec to get there, maudit tabarnac. Chris and I decided there must be different rules for putting up road signs in Quebec. Like, in Ontario it probably says something like, "Upcoming roads shall be indicated at 500m, and an arrow shall point in the direction of the road to be taken directly before the road itself." Quebec rules must say "Upcoming roads will be indicated at 2km, with an arrow pointing in the direction of the road to be taken three roads before you're actually supposed to turn onto it, just to give people lots of warning." Possibly there is also an addendum saying, "And if you can manage to make the arrow point right at a road that has nothing to do with where folks are trying to go, for god's sake, go for it. Damn Anglos don't know how to drive. Maudit câlice."
Anyway, we got there and got our skis, got the kids going, and had a bit of a time because although they had gone skiing before, it was a long time ago and Justin couldn't stay up on the skis. There was some angst re. grabbing on to the t-bar as well, and some falling off the lift. A spot of crying from Justin, a short freak-out from Daniel.
And otherwise, two happy kids who were both skiing pretty well by the end of the day, two parents who wished they'd been able to go on the longer runs and vowed to ski in Ontario next time, but were otherwise pretty damn pleased. Justin asked if we could come skiing again, not next year, but some time this year. And yeah, definitely.
::happy sigh:: I love being a grown-up. I love being a parent.
