Hurdles

Names of persons in this blog have been changed so that those persons involved may avoid further humiliation. Last night, I was out with my friend, Petunia. We had met for frozen yogurt, and naturally, had headed to Walmart afterward, since it was after 10:00, and nothing else is open in the city of Idaho Falls at that time. We thought we might even get lucky and be able to snap a few photos to submit to the People of Walmart website. As we headed toward the home decor department, Petunia tripped over a dolly full of palettes, barely avoiding a total face plant. We laughed until our sides ached and then began swapping stories of our clumsiest moments. When it comes to being clumsy, I think I could rival the Three Stooges. We are talking about the girl who blackened her eye with a pair of pliers while canning apples, after all. Petunia and I relate on so many levels. Our aptitude for turning simple every day objects and occurences into potential death traps is just one of the many qualities we share, along with having a total and complete lack of direction. Between our talent for creating slapstick comedy while simply attempting to walk through a supermarket aisle, and a sense of direction that could get us lost in a cul de sac, I don't think my dear Petunia or myself would make it far in a Hunger Games scenario. Petunia and I share everything. I didn't think there were any skeletons in our friendship closet..... until last night, when Petunia shared with me the story of the hurdle....... She was in middle school track. I think she usually ran long distance. One day, with absolutely no prior training, she decided that she would like to try hurdle jumping. How hard could it be? You run, you jump. Simple as that.

Now, keep in mind that we are talking about the same girl who, moments before relating this story, had been inches away from forming a closer acquantance with the Walmart floor, courtesy of a crate dolly......back to middle school, where Petunia is preparing to jump the hurdle.....with the typical determination that Petunia puts forth in everything she does, she began running at a full sprint toward the hurdle. Closer and closer........faster and faster..... until it was there, right in front of her. Petunia had reached the hurdle, but she did not jump. Instead, she stopped dead in her tracks, and screamed. As a circle of concerned onlookers formed around her, she decided she had to try to retrieve whatever shred of dignity she could. She would still jump that hurdle! From a standing position, a few feet from the hurdle, she attempted to do just that. It doesn't take a vivid imagination to visualize the end result. Knees met hurdle, followed by face (as well as sprawled arms and legs) meeting floor. For the remainder of middle school track, any misstep, trip or close encounter with a hurdle was referred to as "pulling a Petunia". Enough years have passed, that Petunia can now look back at this incident with humor. In fact, by the end of her anecdote, both of us were laughing so unabashedly that the guy wearing two flannel shirts and a mullet was glaring at us like we were the strange ones.

To be fair, I must now relate my own recent tale of humiliation. Though I have many stories of nearly landing myself in the E.R. while performing mundane daily tasks, the incident which I will now relate involves a piano and a bad case of nerves. A few weeks ago, I was asked to play a piano solo in church. I decided on a beautiful song and proceeded to practice it until I'm sure my family never cared if they heard it again! The climax of the song was full of runs and chords. I practiced this portion of the song until I could have played it in my sleep, knowing full well that I would be a nervous wreck during the actual performance. When the day arrived, I sat rigid, trying to focus on the words of the speakers. Instead, all I could focus on was the clammy cold sweat covering every inch of my hands. I wiped them on my dress over and over and tried to breath deeply. But I could feel the panic setting in. The moment of truth arrived. The song began beautifully. Then I came to the climax. A wizard must have sneaked out of one of my beloved Harry Potter books, followed me to church, and cast an obliviate spell on me. For at that moment, I, who had been playing the piano since the age of nine, could no more play the piano than fly to the moon! The page was blank, and I couldn't feel my fingers. They fumbled numbly for the right keys, but the resultant sound was less than harmonious. Then, I pulled a Petunia. I stopped dead in the middle of the song. For a few brief seconds, I considered standing and walking off the stage, with an apologetic curtsy. Then I thought of my children sitting in the front pew, and I knew I had to continue. I had to be an example to them of not giving up. I took a deep breath, reoriented myself and finished the piece. I was humiliated.

In the two weeks since my colossal piano flub up, I have had countless words of encouragement from members of my church congregation. I have recieved an overall sense that those people love me even more because I am not perfect (something which I have always been painfully aware of, but which was made very visible to them), and because I didn't give up. And I suppose that's the point. When Petunia met her hurdle, she was afraid. But, after only a moment's pause, she decided to try to jump it anyway. In Petunia's post-middle school life, I have personally witnessed her overcoming emotional hurdles which would make the strongest of us back down, with such quiet grace and strength, that "pulling a Petunia" these days would be one of the highest goals any of us could aspire to. We all have our own personal hurdles in our lives. Our children may go astray, but we jump that hurdle. Our husband may lose his job. We don't back down. We find out we have pancreatic cancer. We keep on running full speed ahead. Our spouse is tragically taken from us. But we lift our head, look heavenward and pray to God that we can make it over that hurdle. The hurdles are the moments which define us. My piano mishap was a relatively insignificant incident in the scheme of things. But I have learned important lessons from it; the first being that it's o.k. to not always be perfect (a hard thing for a chronic perfectionist to come to terms with). Secondly, I have learned that it's o.k. to fall flat on your face (literally or in a manner of speaking), as long as you get back up. And thirdly, I have come to realize that we never truly realize the beauty and wonder of the sky until we have had a mouthful of dirt. I have also learned that I am no quitter. From now on, when I come to a hurdle that seems insurmountable, I will stare it down, lace up my running shoes,and think, "It's time to pull a Petunia."