“I just don’t want to fall!” the terrified six-year-old screamed at her mother. The other children had walked easily and briskly across, with mini-Olympic dismounts, but the little girl had reached an impasse. Stuck at a dizzying height, the simple task of finishing her way across the beam was like asking her to cross the Atlanta skyscrapers outside on a tightrope.
“Just take a deep breath,” her mother said calmly. “Keep your balance, and keep going.”
The word “balance” probably doesn’t much to a child, and probably didn’t mean much to me as I sobbed hysterically in front of my curious classmates, but when that clutching paralysis of an impending fall set in, I knew I had to make a change. My movements didn’t have to be drastic, but I had to do something to not plunge 3 feet onto the mat in front of everyone – the ultimate defeat. Even when a child starts to lose their balance, they know to realign. I was lucky enough to always have someone encourage me to try in the first place.
Although my gymnastics career was short-lived, I’ve loved performing on life’s proverbial balance beam from an early age. It started out with a fear of crossing and falling in front of others, but I gained confidence from my parents and teachers as I discovered my basic skills: reading, writing, and people-pleasing. (‘Rithmatic? A gentle gust of math is enough to knock me off a sidewalk, but I’ve learned to accept that.) A social butterfly and bookworm, I started to flit across playgrounds and cartwheel through libraries, always encouraged to make more friends and try new things. From track to musical theater to Spanish to student council, my range of interests grew as I reached adolescence. I didn’t want to just do the most activities – I wanted to be the best at all of them.
Incorporating new movements into my routine led to inevitable falls, and many of the most painful were caused by outside distractions. Watching a parent suffer an addiction made me not ever want to even get back up when I fell, but mentors, my mom, and a-wise-beyond-her-years younger sister pushed me to take those deep breaths and hoist myself back up.
When I entered high school, I started to see the value in balancing other people and not just my own achievements. I took great joy in mentoring middle school girls, giving them the same advice my mom did when I was scared – hold your head high and keep going. Helping other girls cross the beam, especially when I’ve felt the same grips of falling what feels like hundreds of feet, is still a particular passion of mine.
Entering my senior year at Vanderbilt, I feel strongly about the routine I’ve worked on for years – I’m currently in the groove of maintaining philanthropic efforts through my sorority and job experiences at two children’s hospitals and Teach For America. I love my academic pursuits, the relationships I have with professors, and late night study sessions. Lifelong friendships and family give my balancing act a spark without which would make all of my flips and twists lackluster. Trips and stumbles happen every day but I have people in my life who tell me to keep doing my best.
So much for me is on the line right now as I approach graduation, and the little girl scared of falling is starting to get anxious as she peers down to the mat and those watching her every move. Even though I can handspring from a test on the rhetoric of social movements to a charity event to a night out with friends, I fear the disappointment of everyone (including myself) if I don’t go for higher scores with more complicated routines. Training, practicing, studying, planning, applying, moving, flipping, flying – overwhelming.
However, when I start to get too focused on what the judges out there are thinking, I remember what my mom said: “Keep your balance and keep going.” I’m beginning to realize that even if I’m not perfect, showing the people I care about that they are the most important thing to balance in my life – even if I fall – is a feat worth its weight in gold.
