Goal of the day: 247 words. Written: 348.
I love learning. And that's why I'm so often wrong.
A week ago, I was at the ice arena with some friends. I've never been able to skate, and I've only ever worn skates since I was 11.
I was learning to ice skate. And in those 45 minutes I learnt part of it - I was moving through the ice, albeit turtle-like, but damn it!
But let's go back to the beginning. First moment on the ice.
"Just don't fall down", my friend Kristina told me.
"Just try and succeed - like a child", added my friend Tauras, recalling our earlier conversation about why children learn to skate faster than adults.
I casually took a few steps on the ice, not holding on to the fence, but probably looking like a drunk.
And then I realised. I need to do what I love to do.
"Wait a minute, I need to do something," I said to my friends, spreading my arms out to the sides and bending my legs a little...
...I fell with my butt on the ice.
An instant breakthrough.
One moment I was scared to fall, scared to make a mistake... And the next moment I was calm, as if I was an Olympic ice skater.
Because by the second moment, I already knew that falling down is not so bad. You can do it again - it will be quite nice. After all, it's just a bit of a pain in the arse.
The scene is changing.
I'm in the kitchen, frying an egg for the first time in my life. At the age of twenty-one. Why so late? No, not because I was a mummy. ...It's just because I can't live with parents who take care of me. Too much.
That day I knew that my mother and father had gone to the Old Town to buy who knows what and to scold them. As always. I also knew that on this rare day, nobody would try to stop me from making a mistake.
That day, I allowed myself to be wrong because no one stood behind me and held my hand.
I felt happy. The egg baked perfectly. Valio!
We change the scene again.
I fell in love with a girl. Again. Who doesn't seem to have fallen in love with me that much. Cool...
Questions: Why am I afraid of making mistakes? Why, in this one place, am I not giving myself permission to be wrong? Why am I afraid to write letters to her, because, well, it seems that I write too many letters as it is? Why am I afraid to confess to her, because, well, it seems that I will alienate her?
Why?
I draw rectangles on the table with a pencil. Angular. Filled with anger and a lack of understanding of my feelings. And I just want to love. And feel loved.
Why am I afraid? Why is she afraid?
Questions.
Laughing,
Daniel