This morning, I went to the mall with friends. We went ice skating.

I learned how to skate when I was eight or nine years old. It was so much fun, and it was also a long time ago.

My body still knew how, but it took me a minute to remember. If there were pathways – or connections between neurons that knew how to skate, somewhere in my brain – they were buried deeply.

It has to do with balance, which has to do with how you carry yourself. Hold yourself together. Arrange the various limbs until you don’t feel like you’re falling, and keep adjusting them in little ways throughout. Shift your weight from one side to the other, in order to move forward.

Be wobbley. Be willing to fall on your ass and look like an idiot, over and over again, and feel awful in the morning. If you’re willing to fall, you might find it easier to try things that require more balance than usual.

I wasn’t exactly flying. Something closer to hobbling quickly over the ice.

When I’m spooked, it is much harder to move. My brain is powerful. If I’ve gotten it into my head that I can’t do well at something, then I probably won’t.

I can’t afford to be spooked or frozen. The things I’m trying to do are too important.

It’s not about believing in myself so much as telling the part of me that does not and never will believe to quiet down, no matter how loudly it’s screaming that I won’t last two seconds if it isn’t there.

We went ice skating.

There were pop songs playing in the background. I got sweaty. I learned how to move in a different way. I was with beloved people. It was good.

I felt happy. I worked harder than I have in a long time. I am exhausted.

Have a good night.