The Dragonslayer's Path:
Turning Misfortune Into Fortune
I believe that because you are the only person who has ever lived inside your own skin, once you become an adult, you are the only person qualified to make your own decisions. Therefore, the purpose of this blog is not to offer advice. Instead, I'm giving you a glimpse of my process, because people tell me it helps them think about their own lives. This blog is appropriate for all ages.
Thursday, January 7, 2010 at 8:54AM I'm still so busy that I don't see a way to carve out time for blogging. I plan to rethink and do some brainstorming to figure out how I might be able to return to blogging.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009 at 8:49AM Due to time constraints, I'm taking a break from blogging. I expect to begin again sometime in the next month or so.
Thursday, October 1, 2009 at 6:52AM Last time, I told you how I convinced my friend Stacey to go on a one-week vacation to learn how to ski during spring break at college. On the first day, both of us failed miserably. We ended up with broken spirits and aching muscles. I felt convinced we’d spend the rest of the trip sitting in front of a fire in the lodge drinking hot chocolate all day long.
But Stacey surprised me. The next morning we talked about what had happened the day before. We decided that neither one of us learned well in a big group. We figured out that we understood the skills we needed to learn—we were both just a lot slower than most people in mastering those skills. We came up with a plan. There was a tiny bunny slope that no one seemed to use. We decided to spend the day on the bunny slope and work with each other.
At first we were tense and scared from the nightmare we’d experienced the previous day. But we kept taking the puma lift (a very simple lift system where you sit down on a disk, hang onto a pole, and get dragged up a slope) to the top of the tiny slope and slowly making our way back down to the bottom. We started getting better. We talked a lot and figured out how to help each other learn. Pretty soon, we started laughing when we’d fall down—probably because we weren’t falling down very much! It was such a successful morning that we decided to try a real ski slope in the afternoon.
Once again, we met with disaster. By sheer accident, we accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up on an expert’s slope. We looked at each other in terror, knowing we didn’t have the skills to get down the mountain. Stacey took charge and came up with a game plan: we’d use the skills we’d learned that morning to traverse the slope, meaning, to ski widely from side to side instead of trying to ski downwards. It took the entire afternoon—and there was a lot of falling down—but we did it. Once again, at the end of the day we were sore, stiff, and exhausted. But we’d also had a better day than Day 1, and we felt hopeful about the rest of week.
Each day, Stacey and I came up with a game plan. We evaluated our skills first thing in the morning and decided what we thought we could accomplish. By mid-week, we were skiing easily down the beginner slopes. By the end of the week, we were racing down intermediate slopes. It transformed into one of the best and most fun vacations I’ve ever had.
I’m grateful that I was smart enough to choose Stacey as the friend I wanted to learn how to ski with. She approached what could have been a friendship-breaking disaster with intelligence, humor, and courage. I learned a lot from her that week.
Next time I’ll tell you how, when I was a child and teenager, I visualized what I wanted my adult life to be like.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009 at 7:19AM Last time, I told you how I overcame my embarrassment at being a physical education major who happened to be terrible at most sports – at least when compared to my very athletic classmates. Today, I’m going to tell you about a similar experience when I learned how to ski.
My college offered weeklong student ski packages every spring break. At first, I wasn’t interested. But then my father threw down the gauntlet by saying something like, “I thought a physical education major would be interested in learning how to ski.” It’s difficult for me to ignore a challenge, and I decided my father was right. I decided this was a great opportunity to learn how to ski.
But I feared going alone. I approached my good friend Stacey. I probably told her about what I imagined would be a great adventure, and she decided to give it a shot.
So off we went with a huge group of students to a ski resort. Our first morning, we took a group lesson. Everyone would learn the basics and then ski down a very easy and simple slope for beginners in the afternoon. Stacey felt anxious because she didn’t see herself as a good athlete. I had enough confidence for the both of us. Even though I was often the worst athlete in every sports course I took, I usually had no problem getting a handle on most of the basic skills of any sport. I felt convinced we’d both pick up skiing easily.
I was so very, very wrong. In the morning class, Stacey and I struggled while everyone in our group breezed through it. We’d give each other worried looks and whisper, “I’m not getting this!” Surely, I thought, once we get on a slope things will get easier. But they didn’t. While our classmates skied happily past us—most of whom claimed they were terrible at all other sports and acted shocked that skiing came so easily for them—Stacey and I struggled so much that we became hazards for other skiers trying to get around us!
By the end of a horribly long and frustrating day, Stacey and I were each hobbling from having fallen so much and so hard. Even though we couldn’t have been more than 20 years old, you would have thought we were geriatric patients from the way we complained about our stiffness and soreness and near inability to move.
By the evening, Stacey announced she was never getting on another ski slope for the rest of her life and certainly not for the rest of this trip. I knew her well enough to simply say, “OK.” At the same time, I drowned in guilt. I felt horrible for talking Stacey into spending her money and time on something that had turned into a nightmare of an experience. And I felt disappointed in myself for being such a klutz.
But the next day, something remarkable happened. Next time I’ll tell you about it.
Thursday, September 24, 2009 at 7:30AM Last time I told you what I gained by working as the student manager of a college men’s baseball team. Today I’m going to tell you how I overcame my fear and shame of being a terrible athlete even though I majored in physical education.
When I was in grade school, I was a good athlete. I could run faster than everybody I knew, including most boys. I could jump farther. When my gym teacher taught us how to punt a football, I was the best. When I punted a football, it sailed high into the air, far across the field, and landed with deadly accuracy.
But something happened when I went through puberty. My body shifted. My center of gravity changed. While other kids shot up strong and tall, I stayed short and squat. Suddenly, I could no longer punt or play badminton or tennis well. By the time I reached junior high school, I was the last kid chosen when picking teams – no one wanted me. I was devastated. How could I have started out so strong only to become such a klutz?
I found solace in knowing there are two things I do well: I can swim like a fish and I can learn any kind of dance in a heartbeat. So throughout the rest of my student days in junior high and high school, I kept swimming and dancing. I figured all I had to do was endure the physical education requirements through my senior year. After that, I could forget sports and trying to participate in them.
And then I had to go and fall in love with baseball and decide I wanted to become the first female manager in pro baseball. When I came up with a plan to accomplish this goal, I knew it would be to my benefit to be prepared to start my career at a college or high school level – and being able to teach physical education would be a smart move.
Oh, no, I thought. How can I possibly teach phys ed when I’m such a terrible athlete? This thought drudged up all the fear and shame I’d felt as the last kid picked for teams in phys ed class. After all, many phys ed majors are top-notch athletes. And I was going to have to take courses with them – and once again be the last one picked. Once again, I found solace in knowing there were two areas where I could shine as an athlete: in dance and swimming courses.
Sure enough, in the vast majority of my sport courses, I was by far the worst athlete and felt embarrassed by my lack of skill. These courses were strictly for physical education majors – we learned not only how to play the sport, but how to teach it. Because so many physical education majors were athletes, they often excelled at all sports. But after awhile, I realized something. In nearly every class I would often have a Phys Ed classmate whose skills were as poor as mine. The first time I discovered this notion was in a tennis course where I noticed one of the football players couldn’t wrap his head around how to use the racquet. I immediately approached him and suggested we pair up and help each other. He agreed – and we did help each other! While our classmates were busy playing tournaments, the football player and I worked together on basic skills. I was happy because I wasn’t alone! I had someone to work and play with, and that’s what mattered the most to me. From that moment on, I was always on the lookout in every course I took for a classmate whose skills were as pathetic as mine. Next time, I’ll tell you about a similar experience I had when I convinced a friend to learn how to ski with me.