You Can't Overcome Your Fear By Yourself

I am not a very courageous person. It's weird to think that I teach people how to take risks, when in my own life I am pretty risk averse.

Last weekend, I took Betsy to a skating birthday party for one of her friends, and the parents were invited to skate, too.

I was excited to go, even though as a kid I had always been afraid of skating and tried to get out of it, when we had to skate as part of a school trip. But I decided now was the time to face my fear. The last time I skated was 45 years ago, and I am not the same person I was then.

At least that is what I thought.

When we got to the party, and I saw the rink filled with kids zooming around on the ice, and I panicked a little. As I was putting Betsy’s skates on her, I thought, “I’ll just return my skates and go on the ice in my running shoes.”

When I told Betsy my idea she said, "I’m not going skating, Dad, unless you go skating, too."

She was blackmailing one of her parents, a skill I don’t think I learned until I was in the 3rd grade. “Fine, fine, fine, I'll put on my skates,” I said.

When we finally got on the ice, I was terrified. It took every muscle in my body to just stand up on those skates without falling. The thought of actually moving in them seemed impossible.

Besty's had other ideas. She had a little plastic chair that she was holding onto and was tooling around the ice. Me, I was glued to the plexiglass side of the rink and was moving like I was on a ledge of a 30-story building, afraid I was going to fall off. I was so full of fear I wanted to die, and I would have if I wasn't responsible for Betsy.

Eventually, I let go of the plexiglass and moved into the center of the rink where the parents and kids seemed to be having good time skating.

The mantra in my head was, "Just don't fall. Just don't fall."

I was now wobbling, and as I passed other parents I asked them if they had tips for me for skating. They said they didn't know how to skate either and then would zoom off like the were trying to qualify for the Olympics. Is that what “I don't know how to skate” looks like?

I was counting the minutes on the digital clock on the wall until 5:30 p.m., when we had to get off the ice. In the meantime, Betsy was gaining more confidence and speed, which meant I had to fake having more confidence and speed to try to keep up with her.

I was trying to follow her, but I was no match for her and the plastic chair. The digital numbers on the clock weren't moving. My feet hurt from this unnatural form of exercise.

Then, finally, it was over. We crawled back to the bench, and my feet had never been more excited to see my shoes. And I actually felt proud of myself. I had accomplished two goals: I did not fall and I did not die. This was my definition of success.

I felt that sense of pride you feel when you overcome a fear that you were not expecting to overcome in this lifetime.

I always think I have to not feel afraid  before I can do something courageous. But I forget that doing something courageous means feeling the fear and doing it anyway.

If it were up to me, I probably would never take risks, but thank goodness there are other people in my life who sometimes push me to do things I didn’t think I could, whether that be other members of an improv group, my friends, or sometimes, a stubborn little Kindergarten girl.