As we stepped into the New Year, I found myself embarking on an adventure that left me both refreshed and humbled: a 145km canoe journey down the Whanganui River. My friend Katie definitely caught me in a good mood when she asked if I’d go! It turned into five days of paddling filled with breathtaking scenery, unpredictability, and a deep sense of vulnerability. The awa, as it often does, brought moments of profound self-reflection, stirring feelings of shame, accomplishment, and gratitude. Driving back to Wellington, Te Whanganui-a-Tara, I couldn’t help but think about the lessons that mirrored the experience of learning to roller skate—lessons about vulnerability, growth, and sitting with the discomfort of shame as part of the human experience.
Picture this: lush green cliffs towering above, the sound of rushing water echoing off the rock walls, and a canoe wobbling precariously as Jonny, my significant other, tries to keep it on course. For five days, my friends and I paddled through calm stretches and challenging rapids of the Whanganui River, sometimes feeling in control and other times feeling like it was my time for an unplanned swim. There were moments when the current swept us faster than we could steer, pulling us towards rocks or narrow bends. In those moments, I felt completely out of control. My heart raced as the canoe tipped dangerously to one side, and I had to remind myself to keep paddling, even when I knew that Jonny was doing his best to keep me safe. But the river, as unpredictable as it was, also offered moments of clarity. The key wasn’t to fight the water but to move with it—to trust the water, trust Jonny, and let go of the need for total control.
Learning to roller skate feels a lot like navigating those rapids for the first time. You step onto your skates, and suddenly, the ground beneath you doesn’t feel solid anymore. Your feet wobble, your arms flail, and every movement feels unsteady. Much like the river, skating can make you feel completely vulnerable, as though you’re on the verge of tipping over at any moment. When I coach beginners, I see this vulnerability firsthand. The fear of falling is the only thing the skater can think of, and the instinct to resist—to stiffen up and overcorrect—often takes over and they end up on the ground. But just like on the river, fighting the flow rarely works. The key to learning is in embracing the instability, trusting your body, and taking small, intentional movements forward. Falling is part of the process, just as it’s part of paddling through rough water. When you learn to skate with me, learning to fall is the first process we will go through.
Being out of control is uncomfortable, whether you’re in a canoe or on roller skates. But it’s also where the magic happens. Vulnerability isn’t a weakness; it’s a gateway to growth. Social work, particularly the work of Brené Brown, highlights how vulnerability is at the core of courage, creativity, and meaningful connection. Yet, it is often accompanied by shame—that deeply human fear of being seen as inadequate. On the river, I felt ashamed when I yelled at Jonny for not doing what I wanted, even though he is more experienced than me. He did not deserve that. On skates, beginners often feel shame when they fall or struggle to stay upright. However, recognising and embracing this vulnerability is essential. It allows us to let go of perfectionism and lean into the learning process. Shame thrives in silence, but when we acknowledge it, we create space for resilience and growth. As I paddled down the Whanganui River, I realised that surrendering to the flow wasn’t about giving up; it was about letting the experience teach me. The same goes for skating. Every fall is a lesson in resilience, every wobble is an opportunity to improve your balance, and every small victory—like skating for a few metres—is a reminder that growth comes from stepping outside your comfort zone.
As we paddle into the New Year, I invite you to embrace the rapids in your own life. Whether you’re stepping onto skates for the first time or navigating a challenge that feels bigger than you, remember that feeling out of control isn’t the end of the story—it’s the beginning. Vulnerability leads to courage, courage leads to growth, and growth leads to transformation.
So here’s to 2025: a year of wobbles, falls, and victories, both on and off the skates.
Комментарии