Frog Pond is one of Boston’s most attended winter attractions. Each year, countless tourists and natives alike lace up their skates to glide around the outdoor rink. My friends and I took the train in from Boston College to get our own Instagram-worthy ice-skating experience one February night. Most of us hadn’t been on the ice for years and were apprehensive, to say the least. I promised myself, though, that I would not fall once during the night. Whatever it took, clinging to the wall, or simply stopping before everyone else, I would not fall.
By the night’s end, I had kept that promise. But to do so, I stayed within three inches of the rink’s edge at all times. I watched some of my other friends whizzes by me in the middle of the rink, falling down every couple of seconds, with smiles strewn across their faces. I didn’t understand how they could be so happy about falling down, and equally as eager to get back up just to fall back down again. To me, staying upright was more important than any possible thrill I could’ve experienced off of the wall. But why was I so afraid of falling? Was I afraid of getting hurt? Of what others would think? Of possible embarrassment? I knew my comfort zone very well and refused to leave its boundaries.
Throughout high school, I lived my life within similar boundaries. I was the shy girl in the class with big ideas but without the confidence to shoot my hand up to say what I thought. I hated forced social interactions and was quiet when meeting new people. I stuck to the activities and classes I was interested in, and more importantly, the ones I was good at. What was the point of trying something new if there was a chance I could fail?
When looking at colleges, the question of whether or not I planned on studying abroad frequently came up. Throughout high school, my answer was always a definite no. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to experience different parts of the world, I just didn’t believe in my ability to navigate in a foreign culture, in a foreign language. So much could go wrong. A semester is a long time to be so far from home; so far outside of my comfort zone. Luckily, thanks to the encouragement of my mom and my advisor, I began to rethink my decision during Christmas break. This is a once in a lifetime experience I don’t want to pass up because of fear. I decided that none of my decisions should be dictated by fear. Fear of failure, fear of rejection, or fear of disappointment.
I’m in the second semester of my freshman year of college now and I want nothing more than to shake this fear of failure. I have come to realize that nothing is more detrimental to one’s self-esteem than the inability to accept your failures.
College has taught me that life is a series of problems and those who are successful aren’t the ones who have mastered the game but are the ones who can figure out how to solve the problems as they come. This is virtually impossible if I’m too afraid to fail or try anything new.
Whether it be taking a class that seems interesting, but challenging, or putting myself in social situations that seem daunting, the only way I can truly develop as an individual is by pushing myself past where I think I can go. That’s when growth comes. That’s when a heightened sense of who I am and who I want to become. Fear, in any form, does nothing more than hold me back from achieving the impossible.
So, I am making a new vow. No matter how long it takes or how many times I fall flat on my face, even if I’m bruised, tired, and cold, I will get off the wall, I will stand in the center of the rink, free of fear.
