What’s the worst that could happen?

Have you ever had a looming deadline, presentation, meeting or just a special occasion that has so filled you with anticipation that you couldn’t sleep or eat or even think straight?  That’s what happened this time last week when my young son was so anxious about his ensuing school athletics carnival that he was completely unable to sleep.

Having moved to a new school this year, he’s still navigating all the events and hierarchies there, and was worried about how his performance would be received.

Trying to work through the insomnia, I tried to bring perspective to the occasion: What’s the worst that could happen, I asked.

“Well I might come last.”  And?

“Well I won’t get a ribbon.”  So?

“Well my friends will think I’m the worst.”  Really?

No one really remembers where you come in the race, I offered… even though I knew that probably wasn’t true.  Seven year olds have an uncanny ability to remember exactly who does what!

You can’t be good at everything, I assured with more certainty.

Finally he dozed off, two hours after bedtime.  Come morning he was cranky and anxious – that special kind of crank-xious we’ve all felt at such times – and off to school he went.  He and I both knew there’d be no records broken, and parted with the obligatory “just do your very best” in the drop off zone.

Later that morning I arrived at the oval to a buzz in the parents stand, our class reps attempting to rally a Year 2 team for the parent-teacher race.  It can safely be said that athletics is not a strong suit in this family.  This caveat was issued strongly.  And still, with the very real threat that we’d have to forfeit the race, and in the knowledge that I too was a new pupil in this crowd, I stepped up to the plate.

Maybe I was seeking acceptance.  Maybe I was trying to be helpful.  Or maybe I just wanted to please my young offspring.

Either way, the look on my son’s face was priceless.  There he was, amongst his new friends, at his new school, and it was his mum that was coming to the rescue.  It was his mum who would complete the team.  It was his mum who would save the day!!!  He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

For my part I thought, well why not, this will be a way to get involved, to show we’re the kind of family that will give anything a shot, and really… as per my own advice… what’s the worst that could happen???

With the one dad and other four mums, our team of six took custody of our green relay baton and stepped out onto the field, three to either end of the 50-metre track.  Either side of the lanes were the Kindergarten parents, Year 1 parents, Teachers and Year 6 student teams.

Our lone dad took charge and started the race.  He sprinted down the pitch towards the first mum, who’d come straight from the gym that day and was clearly well qualified for the job.  The baton change was clean and fast and soon we were onto the third runner.  Then followed more clean changes to the fourth and fifth runner.  And then the spotlight was on me.

O. M. Goodness!!! What if I drop the baton? I don’t know how to do a change!!! I’m going to drop it and make a fool of myself…. And everyone will be watching… And I’ll ruin it for us all… And I’ll never be invited to play again… And no one will want to be my friend….

In that instant I regressed 35 years to my own Year 2 sports day.  Where I was the uncoordinated, gangly, skinny kid with no interest whatsoever in sprinting down the pitch.

Yet somehow I managed to grab the baton and keep it firmly in my hand as I was off!  The final runner of our team, on the approach to the finish line, Just 50 metres between me and glory! (OK it’s true, the Year 6 kids had finished well before I even started my leg, but still I could carry my team home…)

The fifty metres turned into forty, then thirty, then twenty and I was so close to that finish line I could almost taste it.  And then… it happened…

A gust of wind caught my cap and lifted it from my head. And instead of letting it fly, I grabbed for it, losing balance and then – as if in slow motion – I felt my legs go from beneath me and started falling backwards… and then overcorrected forwards… and between losing my footing and forgetting to breathe and just having no clue I suddenly swan-dived forward. Landing on my knees.  Then chest. Sliding in the mud. The baton falling onto the ground…

The cheering stopped abruptly and the crowd fell silent.  I scrambled around, finding the baton, and my cap, and somehow found my feet again.  But it was too soon and my balance wasn’t back and in a split second I tumbled again for a second time.

This time I stopped.  Took a deep breath.  Picked myself up and thrust myself forward over the finishing line. How humiliating!!!

To be clear, nothing quite this embarrassing has happened to me in as long as I can remember, and I really couldn’t believe it myself… But as far as I could understand it was in fact actually happening and now I had to decide how to respond.

Given a choice I would have run straight off home without so much as a glimpse back over my shoulder.  BUT…. Of course I’d left my handbag in the parents stand… So in the minutes it took me to walk back from the pitch to my seat I took a few deep breaths and took stock of the situation: I had no choice in what had just happened, but I could choose now how to respond.

Landing in my seat, pride dented but otherwise in one piece, I turned to the closest friendly face next to me… and started laughing, a deep, soulful belly laugh.  And that mum started laughing, and the one next to her, as we recounted the first tumble, and the second, and how ridiculous I must have looked.

And I can’t tell you how good that laughter felt.

That night, when our lovely class helper distributed the group email thanking parents for attending and especially our team of relay runners (listed by name, with my name at the top!!), I chose again to be on the inside of the joke:

Lisa, thanks for coordinating. We had a huge laugh at bedtime about my athletic prowess. Unfortunately, Master 7 didn’t have a good line of sight from his vantage point so missed my tumble turn – so if anyone has footage on their iPhone please do share! Either the first, or second tumble would be great, or bonus points for both!!!  Could be a funniest home video in the making right there ;-0

 Cheerio, Jen

Now anyone who knew me in my former perfectionist corporate life would expect me to dwell on this sort of spectacular failure for weeks and months.  And I would have. And I’d have used endless energy wishing it hadn’t happened, worrying what people must think of me.  And none of that would have changed a thing.

Instead, because I laughed and gave others permission to laugh too, I’ve spent every day of the past week high on endorphins.  And my spontaneous giggles have infected others I’ve shared the story with. And my smile has opened up conversations that would never otherwise have happened.

Indeed, sometimes stuff happens and though we can’t always be in control of the situation, we can choose how we respond.

Oh, and if this has made you giggle too… I’m glad!  Please do let me know and I’ll be sure to laugh with you!

Yours, still smiling,