Flying trapeze class tonight ended what had been a streak of amazing classes. Things had been so good for so long that I had kind of forgotten what these lows can feel like. Looking back over emails that I sent to my mom after my recent hot streak does remind me of how great things had been: turnarounds that kept form, swings that built height, calm (for me) takeoffs, cutaways with misses and timers.
Then, tonight. Backslidding on my turnaround is terrible for my headcase issues. Rational me (hah!) acknowledges that this could be/likely was a fluke class, for lots of reasons (houlder; tired; heat). Things might be totally better next class.
But man, sometimes it sucks to love something you are so terrible at. And sometimes, it just hurts.
I've written before of the magic of my flying world, where everything is hard and every victory is truly earned with hours of work and sweat and tears. But tonight, as I watched someone else learn his swing (second class on it) with a forceout more powerful already than mine may ever be and height I still don't get, sometimes all I want is to ever belong in that other world. For OOL to ever seem like a possibility. For just once to get something more quickly than most people.
Sigh. I ask too much of trapeze. the rational (hah!) part of me knows that. I asked it to save me when I was going through a really difficult time. I asked it to teach me to trust again. I ask it to be a place where I learn to conquer fear. I ask it to always make me happy. I ask it to be an escape from reality. I ask it to pick me up when I've had a rough day/week in my other worlds. I ask it to make me feel strong and beautiful and courageous. I ask it to be magical. It's not fair; I know it's not fair.
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