- longing

Maybe it starts as a dull longing, a sense that it really is time for me to pay a visit. Not so unlike a slowly surfacing awareness of a nagging dietetic mineral deficiency, or a sense that it's been a long time since I've seen my aunt. I need to go watch some figure skating in person. So I check an online schedule, see that Valley Ice has two hours of freestyle at 9:30, fix my hair, shave, and toss a scarf into the car. It's a ten minute drive. On the way I stop for a Starbucks espresso and spend a few moments of writing in the coffee shop, pondering over the nature of this psychic hunger. Deep down inside I know what it is but I am unsure of how to capture its bones into an essay, plus I fear that once I share the beast I may end up killing it by exposure.

I hop back into the car and drive the last minute to the rink. As I enter the smell of the cold air spins my brain: ice rinks have a scent that instantly binds me to all their common memories. I gently take a seat on the bench where I always sit, at center ice. The skate moms cluster on the bench twenty feet to my left under a space heater. Today I'll be able to sit quietly and observe by myself; this is a bit of a relief as when I sit with others inevitably a nearby mom asks "who's your skater?" When I say l have no kid skating the next question always seems to be "Why are you here then?" The person asking seems to imply that watching a kid in their junior level sport is more of a parental obligation. Outsiders must be suspicious weirdos.

I shrug and give a short excuse for my answer: my daughter used to skate and I thought I would duck away from the heat and enjoy some inexpensive entertainment. Why just this simple excuse instead of the truth? It’s because sharing the hard truth is both nakedly revealing and too embarrassing.

The hard naked truth is that back twenty years ago my daughter's figure skating saved my life. Oh we all go through various phases in our lives, childhood, teen angst, mating, raising kids. In my mid-thirties I found myself divorced, in poor health, lonely, and broke. But I did have my daughter's skating to look forward to. It seemed like several times a week I sat on the hard bleachers, or slowly ambled about the rink, or warmed my hands around a cup of coffee in the heated snack cafe. I watched tiny tots shimmy on the ice, six year olds proudly don their first club jackets, and eleven year olds hone their Axels. I witness coaches with seemingly infinite patience teaching the same skills repeatedly to an endless stream of students.

And from this I recognized that hope springs from hard work, patient practice, and constant learning. Success comes from dedication, strength of personality, creativity, and avoiding pitfalls. My life would turn around with these same principles. As I spent more time at the rink I saw what enabled all of this: it was the love from the coaches and the skating parents. As I became a more proficient observer the skaters would love me for the insight I provided to their shortcomings.

When I enter the rink and catch the unique mixed scent of exertion, frozen mildew, and skate leather, I am reconnecting to everything that we build to be better people. Sure my short answer is that I'm here to cool my heels and be entertained a bit; the long answer is that skating is my church: it reminds me of what it takes to be a good human. That nagging longing is for the skaters' love to get there.