Lead by scary, scary example

Today I stuck my face in the water.  I swam with my face underwater without holding my nose.  For many of you, this seems anticlimactic. But let me explain why this is a big deal.

There are some people who thrive in new situations and experiences.  They jump right into the deep end of the pool, immediately stick their leg out for the hokey pokey, and take off with a run on that sled down a steep hill. 

I am not one of these people.

Cautious and perfectionistic are better words to describe me.  I like trying new things but am terrified of doing it “wrong.”  Wasting money on food that I might not like, or looking like a ridiculous fool in front of others?  Either of these is considered anathema in my mind!  Several years ago, in our pre-kid era, my husband decided that he wanted to train in a new taekwondo studio that opened less than a mile from our house.  Ah cool,  I thought, that sounds awesome.  But maybe we don’t have enough money. Maybe I will look silly. Maybe I am not strong enough.  I don’t have those skills.  So even though he wanted me to, I did not join.  Eight months later, as I watched my husband in a testing, I realized that I was mentally correcting the students in their techniques.  I had observed enough over the testing to know when something was done accurately or not; what did this say that I was paying that close of attention? 

So I joined. 

Our master provided three individual sessions to new students to acclimate them to the basic kicks and punches, and I am sure to assess skill level and ability.  I will never forget that first hour with him.  He showed me jabs, crosses, hooks and upper cuts.  I learned front kicks, side kicks, and that kicking and punching from my hip would allow me the greatest force and length (What was punching from your hip?).  At the end of the session, I was soaked in sweat and vulnerability.  At that moment, my master told me to get down and do 20 pushups. 

Excuse me?

I had not done a push up in years, much less twenty of them.  But I got down on my knees, humbled to my shaky and rocky core, and did five.  That was as much as I could do.  I kept my eyes down as I got up slowly, afraid to see disappointment in his eyes.  Why is this girl here, thinking she could keep up in my classes? But I saw invitation in his eyes; they sparkled as he told me I had done well and that we would learn more in our next session.

Four years later, I earned my black belt in taekwondo.  I broke boards, performed tornado kicks, and sparred.  I was flexible and strong and felt like a ninja. 

Flash forward a few years.  This past August, I took my kids to my parents’ house where we swam for ten days straight.  We had been in a cold and mild New England summer, so my kids reveled in the warmth of the sun and the water.  My son loves to swim, but was so cautious about putting his face in the water. I tried to show him, coach him, support him, encourage him. 

But I would not put my face in the water. Where is the ninja now?  I could tell my stories about why, but the truth is I have had years and many opportunities to face my fears.  I just have not. Until now.  I would not put my face in.  

So he would not either.

It was decision time.  I could either continue pushing my sweet son into doing something I would not do, or I could do it myself.  So I put my face in the water and swam. 

I did not die.  I did not choke.  The water did not go up my nose. 

My son encouraged and cheered for me as I came up out of the water, and then the most amazing thing happened.

He put his own face in, and swam like a fish underwater.

I learned that same lesson from taekwondo again that day, one that repeated itself this week when my daughter asked if I would show her a cartwheel.  Motherhood and parenting and leading and mentoring are done by example, as evidenced by my son's ability to swim underwater and my daughter's cartwheel improving by seeing a real one.  YES! I really did a real one.  Many, in fact.  And yes, I am proud. 

A master's twinkling eyes.  A cheering son. An amazed daughter.  All at a woman just trying.

There will always be new things to try and new ways to be vulnerable.  I can throw a mean upper cut but cannot swim like a fish.  But I can try.  That is what I want my kids to see.  Trying can be fun, even when you are not the best or when it makes you tremble like a leaf.  Because it is in the trying that we connect and grow and learn.  These risks teach those we lead that mistakes and trying bring richness and depth to us otherwise unexplored.

I do not want to romanticize.  Trying is hard work, and it takes practice.  Taekwondo taught me that I cannot do spinning kicks without having the feel of where my body needs to be in the turn before I lift off the ground. I also could not have learned that without seeing it done, then practicing, then watching again, and then practicing some more.  Whether it is sharing our stories, doing a tornado kick, turning cartwheels, or swimming underwater, it takes repetition and relationship before it becomes more natural.  Or if it does not become more natural, we become more just for trying.