THE UPSIDE OF VULNERABLE

What does it mean to make oneself vulnerable?  Exposing oneself to the possibility of being hurt, of feeling pain?  Obviously, I want to protect myself from pain.  Sometimes, though, allowing myself to be vulnerable and accepting the risk of suffering allows for new possibilities that might include pain, but also provide tremendous joy. 

It is not always easy to do what one wants to do, specially when others think you should not or cannot do it.  I am unwilling, though, to let anyone tell me what I should or should not do.  So when the opportunity presented itself, on the eve of my forty-first birthday, I hopped onto a skimboard—something I had been dying to do.  Of course, I was immediately on my ass.  My leg twisted, testing the stability of the ligaments and tendons supporting my knee joint.  I felt girly, which caused me more suffering than the sand exfoliation or the severe pain in my leg.

I limped back up the beach with the pro skimboarder, who was being kind and politely patient about my obvious inability to put any weight on my left leg without excruciating pain.  I took a deep breath, exhaled and shook-out my leg before my rapidly tightening knee became too stiff.  I looked him in the eye and responded, “Yeah, I’m O.K.  I’m ready to go again.”  Focusing on executing the technical instruction I had just received, I forgot all about the pain and experienced the thrill of skimming. 

Skimming is dominated by strong and brave twenty-something year old men.  I was the only woman on the beach, clearly past twenty-something, learning how to skim.  I was allowing myself to be vulnerable.  It was very scary.  For every look of disbelief, I had complete strangers come up and commend my effort.  A “friend” made a negative comment that stung, but actual friends encouraged me.  During the first week, as I practiced, I felt insecure and conscious; yet, the fun of skimming, the challenge and the support of friends kept me going.

After a few days of experiencing the risk and accompanying moments of embarrassment, anger and frustration, I overcame the feeling of vulnerability.  Now, I truly do not care who sees me and what he or she thinks.  I laugh when I find my face planted in the sand.  I shake it off when I hurt, and much of my body hurts.  Every single time I fall, I get up and try again.

This afternoon, as the first wave of the set receded, I started running across the sand.  I felt the traction pad under my right foot, then under my left foot.  In position on the board, I crouched down.  The sore muscles in my lower back, quads and glutes let me know I had hit my sweet spot.  As I glided on the surface of the water, I delighted in the feeling of riding my board, liberated from the confines of fear and expectation.