***This is a BftP, or “blast from the past,” post. Prepare yourself for some either relevant or cringe-worthy words from my younger self.
Andreea Munteanu’s highly photogenic beam routine, courtesy of Pierre-Yves Beaudouin.
I’ve been dwelling lately on the idea of transformation (I told you this might be a trend). Maybe it’s the age; as a late-twenty-something, I’m in the throes of what everyone tells me is a very tumultuous stage of life and personal development. Maybe it’s the season; Spring is, after all, a time of abundance, change, and riotous newness. But something’s got me thinking about the alchemy of becoming ourselves; of the way that we have to let old versions ourselves die to make way for the new.
When I was fourteen, a combination of injuries and genetics forced me out of competitive gymnastics. At the time, it was one of the hardest things I’d ever done; I shed not only a sport (and lifestyle — the hours I put into gymnastics left time for little else), but also an identity I’d built for myself since I was five years old and had maintained across nine years, three countries, and more bobby pins, blisters, and competitions that I could count.
Accepting that there are mountains I cannot move is a foreign and unsettling concept for me. Everything in me shouts “there’s got to be a way, you just haven’t figured it out yet!” But that’s not always the case. Giving up gymnastics was the first time I really had to confront the fact that sometimes, you have no choice but to cut your losses. There’s nothing for you to wait for; you simply have to let go, and learn to get comfortable with the fall.
I won’t minimize the heartache that comes with the death of a dream. But I also think it’s interesting to take the narrative of loss and flip it on it’s head. The bigger the hole left in your life, the bigger your capacity for filling it with something even greater than was there before. There’s more room now, and you know what it feels like to throw yourself into something that fills you to the brim. If you were waiting for permission to lead a big life — now’s your chance to say “challenge accepted,” and turn the page to the next chapter.