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| Photo courtesy of CBS |
Breathtaking, passionate, awe-inspiring.
If you watched the skating performance of Meryl Davis and Charlie White last night, then you probably were moved to emotion. Maybe you watched out of obligation (like my husband) but found yourself entranced by the raw talent and magnificent beauty. Just in case you missed it, here is a quick recap:
AMAZING!
The pair appeared ethereal, gliding in fluid motion across stark silver ice. Their luxurious purple costumes likened them to royalty and the two definitely reigned as king and queen on Sochi ice. Their moves were intricate and elegant. White effortlessly lifted Davis across his body in seamless transition, "a curved lift," the announcer said, "practiced for over three years." Led by musical crescendo, the dancers moved urgently across the frosty stage building up to a grand spin in which White swept Davis off the ice in exquisite beauty. The crowd exploded in applause. "A masterpiece" the announcer said while the other explained the routine had been "four to five years in the making." Flawless. They made it look easy. The reward for all of their hard work? Gold. First ever for the U.S. in Ice Dancing.
As a young girl I'd watch, mesmerized by the skaters lifts and spins. Impacted by the scene, I asked my dad if I could learn to skate. His reply, sound and practical, "We live in small town Texas. There aren't any skating rinks around here." Small problem for someone with my imagination. The next time I went to the roll arena, I was Katarina Witt. I figured I had time, and someday I too would become an ice princess.
I finally got to ice skate when the girls were small. While visiting family in Lafayette, Indiana we stopped at a quaint outdoor park in late December. We tied on bulky skates and fumbled our way onto the ice. I took each of the girls around the rink, holding onto the side rail, afraid that I might fall and take a daughter with me. Far from the grace and poise of Katarina, I still treasure the memory. I might not have become an Olympic ice skater, but I experienced the same beginning, just a little bit later.
While I celebrated victory for the acclaimed medalists, I did what I always do. I felt a tinge of nostalgia for years passed. I longed for bright eyes eager to chase after empty dreams. I missed the days filled with youthful creations when I'd mumble quietly, "I can do it" and actually believed that I could become the next greatest Olympic athlete.
No longer disillusioned, I now know that I won't compete in the Olympics, EVER. And that's okay, because the tremendous individuals who are competing did much more than dream. They dreamed with intention, which makes all the difference in the world. The rest of us who dreamed other dreams watch from home, applauding their accomplishments. We are grateful to climb the peak and share the summit with them.
When the dance was over, I stood up, turned on tiptoe, and told Matt that we should twizzle. (I simply couldn't help myself--who doesn't love a good twizzle?)
Truly, Cinderella
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