I started rollerskating in January of 2021. I asked my mom for rollerskates for my 23rd birthday, and she got them for me. And there is a little irony in that, considering that this is the same woman that took away my pair of white and blue Heelys skates shoes because I wouldn’t stop falling down in them on the sidewalk, bruising and scraping up my 11 year old knees. I have many scars, but I always say those are my favorites. I am no less clumsy than I was then, and no less stubborn either. 

So my mom bought me the skates. I didn’t give her a chance to pick them out, I had already poured over every article and Reddit thread I could find searching for the best-budget-beginner skates I could find, ones that also came in pink. After hours of relentless research, I sent my mom a link for a pair of Impala Quad Skates, pink with yellow laces. And she sent them to me. When I got them, I unpacked them immediately to stand on the carpet in them, too dubious of my balance to dare step onto the kitchen linoleum floor yet. I lived in a small mother in-law unit at the time, with a small kitchen, a small living room, and two small bedrooms. It was a miracle we fit two dressers and a whole bed in the room I shared with my partner. And before I dared step outside, I skated little laps back and forth in that kitchen, using the front door as my brakes one way, and the cupboards above the counter on the other side. 

Eventually I transitioned to skating at the tennis courts around the corner from my house. I know that tennis players don’t like it when you do that, but I did it anyway. Thats where I learned how to start, stop, and turn. And fall. I remember asking Youtube to teach me how to fall as gracefully as possible, knowing it was going to happen anyways. I find there is a peace that comes with allowing yourself to fall, and instead focusing on how to take care of yourself when you do. Carrying my new bravery and techniques, I strapped in to my helmet and the knee, elbow, and wrist pads I promised my mother I would wear. And went out to fall a lot. 

The first time I really fell, I was taking a video that I thought might be a cute fun thing to post on Instagram. If you pause it at the right time, you can catch me literally mid-air as my skates fly out from under me and I drop to the ground. In the video, I stare at the ground for a quick moment, registering what just happened, and then I stand up in a hurry, all of a sudden aware of the possibility that someone might have seen what just happened. That idea was almost as painful as my inevitably bruised, thankfully not broken, tailbone. 

I have thought about the feeling of embarrassment often since I started skating. It quickly became clear to me that when I went out to skate, people were going to see me fall. And I didn’t really like that feeling. But over time I realized that nobody had the power to make me feel embarrassed; it is simply a human reaction to the feeling of knowing you are being judged. But soon skating became a practice for me in rejecting the obligation to feel embarrassment. 

Skating down bumpy sidewalks next to busy roads became a great opportunity to practice that. Once I stood at a crosswalk as a large truck came to a stop to allow me to cross the street, a gesture I wanted to appreciate, but under the circumstances could not. The surface of the asphalt was almost too rough for me to skate, so I just slowly shuffled my way across the street, while this driver watched me narrowly avoid falling backwards more than once due to catastrophic encounters with very small rocks. And I felt embarrassed.

I think we experience embarrassment because we feel as though we owe the world our shame, so we readily offer it in order to try and validate the way others perceive us. And it feels good to refuse to do that. 

One day I met two girls skating around the park I frequented. It was the first time I had had company to skate with since I started. It was proof that other girls skating existed outside of the youtube tutorials and instagram posts on my phone. One of them showed me how to loosen the trucks on my skates, the pieces between the axel and the wheel, to help make turning and stopping easier. It was a game changer. We exchanged phone numbers and I texted them later on. I didn’t ever hear back, but sometimes people come into your life just to loosen your trucks a little, and that’s okay. 

When I moved north to Bellingham, snow piled up quickly after my arrival in late November, and I couldn’t bring myself to drive 27 minutes to the rink in the next town over in order to skate inside. So mostly I stopped skating. One day, when my roommates were out of town I decided to pull out my dusty skates and put them on whilst I spun around the house, listening to music and pretending to do housework. On my way through the house, I tripped on the lip of the doorway to the kitchen and fell backwards, with one of my skates falling back down heavily, kicking a hole in the drywall in the process. And as I sat on the floor my stomach sank through it looking at the newly created cavity in the wall that was now my problem. 

Panicked, I took to Google, typing a desperate request into the search bar, “help fixing hole in drywall”. The first videos that appeared detailed instructions on how I should first cut the hole in the wall even larger, so then I could buy a section of drywall of the same dimensions and install that. I didn’t finish the video; that was simply not an option. I settled on drywall fixing for dummies, which consisted of a mesh screen, putty, and the house paint I found in the basement. I bought the pieces of my project at the local Ace hardware and a tall-can triple IPA at the grocery store next door, then I posted up on the corner of the wall, where I spent the next two hours layering putty onto my mesh screen that sat precariously over the hole, constantly threatening to cave in. 

⅔ of the way through my project, Sidney walked in the back door and I immediately reassured her that she had “nothing to worry about”. Which is the perfect thing to say to get someone to worry very much. But I finished patching the hole. The putty dried and I painted over it, and by some miracle, you’d really never notice it unless you knew it was there. And/or if you knew to gently press the wall on the corner a few inches above the trim, where the drywall will still slightly bend under pressure. I learned two things that day: how to patch a hole in drywall, and that I shouldn’t rollerskate in the house. 

Last summer I spent sunny days outside skating laps around the park down the street from my house. I still fell a lot, but I cared so much less. If you are confident in what you are doing, on your skates or otherwise in life, you’re a lot less likely to fail. But if you only ever do the things you are confident in, you don’t learn very much either. I learned a lot of things that summer in Bellingham, and I fell a lot. I learned to wear my helmet and knee pads on days I was nervous, and to wear my wrist pads every time, because even on good days I knew I might fall, and I was enthusiastically ready for it. I fell in love that summer too, but my knee pads didn’t protect me from that. That feeling would have seeped through even a bulletproof vest. 

I have often said that being on my skates feels like flying, at least when I’m doing it right. Once in the late summer I listened to Florence and the Machine as I skated down a recently resurfaced street that I had eyed for months. The sun was setting and Florence herself laid the timeless line of “happiness hit her like a train on the tracks”. And all of a sudden I realized, that without ever seeing it coming, I was gliding on my pink and yellow skates into the sunset, absolutely the happiest I’d ever been. 

I’ve bought two pairs of skates since the summer, one too stiff and heavy for me to maneuver in, and a second pair I tried on and bought at the local skate shop in the city. I’ve still yet to break in the second pair’s pink suede, but I dream about the way the skates will someday fit my feet like a glove. Feeling for once like I am home on the wheels underneath me. I’ll still fall, people will still watch. I will try new things and at first I won’t be able to do them. My pink skates will darken and stain. I will grow and learn and people will judge me along the way. It isn’t always easy knowing that, but these days I think I am more okay with it. I don’t think they know how hard learning to fly is, and neither do they know how magical it feels when you finally do.