Try Again Anyway

A few weeks ago, I pulled on my rollerblades for the first time in three years.

And, let’s be honest. It’s not like I spent those three years at the gym. Or, wasn’t feeling three years less youthful.

I was, in fact, wondering, “Should I even try this again?”

These days, rollerblading requires a helmet, wrist guards, knee pads, elbow pads, and a healthy—very healthy—respect for gravity.

But, there I was—looking like I was ready for roller derby, not just a few quick spins around a small circle.

Once around.

Another half and we stopped to talk with friends walking their dogs.

Phew I can stop for a minute.

Another quarter …….

And I hit a pebble, lost my balance, and fell. Hard. On my back as I felt every vertebra rattle and head jarring against the ground.

Thank goodness for that helmet.

The good news is that I wasn’t seriously hurt. A scraped elbow, a bruised ego, and a reminder that the ground is still exactly where I left it.

And concrete is still hard.

But as I’ve reflected on that fall over the past few days, I’ve realized the fall isn’t really the story.

The story is that I put the rollerblades on.

At an age when it would be easier to decide what I can no longer do, I made a different choice.

Not because I’m fearless—I’m not.

Not because I’m particularly good at it—definitely not.

But because growth still happens.

Sometimes it just comes with elbow scrapes.

The longer I live, the more I realize that growth isn’t reserved for young people. Growth belongs to anyone willing to keep learning, keep trying, keep stretching, and occasionally keep wobbling.

For me that day, it looked like rollerblades.

For you, it might look completely different.

Maybe you’re caring for an aging parent... volunteering in your community… learning new technology… starting over after a loss… setting a boundary you’ve needed for years… starting a non-profit… writing the first page of a story you’ve always wanted to tell.

Or, maybe you’re simply getting out of bed and facing a difficult season with courage.

Those things count.

They are evidence that you are still participating in your life.

Too often we focus on the falls, the mistakes, the setbacks, or the things that didn’t go according to plan. We see the scrape and call it failure.

But what if the scrape is evidence of something else?

What if it is evidence that you’re showing up?

That you tried?

That you were willing to step into the arena even when there were no guarantees?

My scraped elbow was evidence that I fell.

Not that I failed.

Falling and failing are not the same thing.

It was evidence that I participated—something always worth celebrating.

And when I find the courage to buckle up those rollerblades and head out again?

Then I’m breaking open a champagne bottle.

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