I didn’t make the LA Kings Ice Crew this year, and my plan was to go about the rest of my life pretending like it didn’t happen and lying to anyone who asked…if only to save the little bit of pride I still have for myself.
But then I remembered something.
I was talking with my best friend, Meagan (who I actually met through the Ice Crew and who I’m proud to say made it again this year), having our go-to chat about the typical ups and downs our 20’s have offered. She was telling me about the difficult things some of her other friends are going through right now in life, too and asked me if I was going to write a post soon to discuss some of the changes I’ve experienced–or anything, really–in hopes that maybe it would help those people relate.
She knows all of the emotions I’ve had since getting cut during tryouts a few weeks ago–yes, in front of God and everyone–and she knows my plan was to simply pretend like it was nothing, sweep it under the rug and move on. But oddly enough, when she asked me what I wanted to write about, the first thing that came to mind was this.
And that’s when realization struck: as sad, confused and ego-bruised as I still am, there has to be a reason I’m going through this, and if I don’t make something of it, what’s the fucking point? There’s something important, something meaningful in sharing the all-too relatable feeling I’ve had over these last two weeks–over-thinking, over-analyzing, self-doubting and beating myself up over what I could have done different…
We all can relate to that.
I’m talking about that gut-wrenching moment when you have to pick up all of your bags while wearing a stupid pink sports bra and carry it past a gym full of people, hold back your tears and walk out on several years of hard work, dedication and passion. I’m talking about the heartbreaking moment you pack up the last box from your apartment and close the door on a 4-year relationship you worked so hard on sharing with a man you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with. I’m talking the sting of tears flowing down your face after saying goodbye to your little brother as he heads to prison for 2 years and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it but write him letters and pray that he figures it out.
But I’m not just talking about me. I’m talking about you, too.
I’m talking every drunken mistake and every first date that never saw a second go. I’m talking every divorce, every broken family, every person that said forever and didn’t last. I’m talking every relapse you’ve gone through after promising the last binge, the last pill, the last beer was the last you’d ever have. I’m talking every college application you sent only to receive a letter of denial and every test you didn’t pass. I’m talking every job interview that took the other candidate and every career path you decided wasn’t the right one. I’m talking every pound you’ve gained and every pimple you’ve gotten and every time you’ve looked in the mirror in the morning and said WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK.–not because of your appearance, but because you simply don’t know how you got…here.
I’m talking about failure.
No one goes through life without failure in some way shape or form, and if you think you have, I hate to break it to you, honey, but you’re living a sad reality…because the reality is failure is inevitable. If I hadn’t failed in making the Ice Crew this year, I would have failed at something else. I HAVE failed at something else–multiple something elses! But guess what? That’s what I realized has made me the kind hearted, empathetic, strong, bad ass bitch that I am (yeah, I said that).
The most courageous people that I know are the ones who have fucking failed.
Why? Because they are the ones who picked up their bag in front of God and everyone and walked out of that gym; picked up the pieces of their broken heart and walked out of that relationship; picked up those boxes and those denial letters and that last drink and that nonexistent second date and said THIS IS NOT GOING TO FUCKING STOP ME.
Life is full of fucking failures.
They don’t stop when you’re in your 20s or your 30s or even your 60s or 70s–my dad and grandma would be sure to vouch for that. Failure is something we’ll all experience…forever. But it’s how we handle every failure that helps continue to shape the people we are meant to become.
I hate to sound cliche here, but every failure truly is the opportunity for another door to open…It’s just a matter of whether you’ll walk through.
For me, my door was at a gym, carrying all my bags, wearing a stupid pink sports bra…and I can’t wait to see where it leads!
With that being said, I am grateful for this experience. I’m still the biggest LA Kings fan, and I continue to stick to my belief that working for the Ice Crew was one of the best things to ever happen to me.
After all, it’s how I met Meagan, and that’s who inspired this post.
PS: That photo was from my very first game working for the Ice Crew, and I thought it was only appropriate upon closing this chapter.