Skitchin'

I love the movie Back to the Future. I played Skitchin’ on my friend’s Sega. My attempt was inevitable. Skitching is hitching a ride on a vehicle while skating or on a bike.

Cars driven by strangers were too infrequent or too fast. So, we enlisted a friend to drive. I clicked on my rollerblades. My best friend and I grabbed the trunk. We issued consent via a thumbs-up and a shout.

It was exhilarating. What felt like 100 mph was probably 10-15 mph. It was everything I’d hoped for. We became accustomed to the speed and coaxed our driver to go faster.

All of my childhood schemes were exclusively planned for the best-case scenario, if they even considered “an end point.” This was no exception.

My skates wobbled. My calves wore out, and my ankles weakened. Every pebble on the road fought against me. Then my skate caught on a bigger rock.

My legs pulled back. It felt like an escalator where the handrail and stairs were out of sync. I stretched until they were too far behind me. I fought hard to draw them back under me.

Everything from this point forward is pretty spotty. I recall thinking, “Oh, no.” I don’t recall falling, but I remember my chin bouncing on the pavement. Like my chin, time hopped. I remember lifting my face from the ground and spitting out gravel. Time hopped again. I remember sitting in the grass.

While I don’t remember the gaps, I recall my friend checking on me. My ears were ringing. I felt more gravel in my mouth. I spat it out and realized it was fragments of teeth. My friend suggested we move somewhere safer. Time hopped. We were sitting in a side yard. Someone called my parents.

We sat in the waiting room of the emergency room. We were there for a very long time. I’m not criticizing the wonderful people in health care, but there was very little urgency around my emergency. I remember people sitting across from me, then moving in disgust. The tally was a broken arm, lots of road rash, five teeth gone, and 36 stitches in my chin that day.

What started as an unbelievably great experience, I thought was exactly what I wanted, turned out to be terribly painful. It was my idea, and I loved the idea. It felt very right, very fun. Other people got on board, so it reinforced my belief in the “good” idea. There were times when it started to feel dangerous, but I looked around and everyone was still on board. Even when I got nervous, I thought about how far I’d gone and how I could handle it. Suddenly, I lost complete control of the situation. After the fact, we all knew it was a bad idea. My friends felt guilty. I felt stupid. I felt pain. I felt relieved that I had survived.

Sometimes I get on board with an emotional idea that seems fun or like something I deserve. It seems exhilarating, and I look around, and other people are there, too. I don’t think about the possible outcomes, I just get swept up in half of a thought—in the moment of excitement. Just because I started down a path doesn’t mean I have to continue.

Before I start, what are the possible outcomes? Do I have the courage to let go before I’m forced to? What am I pursuing from a place of emotion and not thought?

Be curious, be kind, be whole, do good things.