Santa brought Riley, Ryann, and me skates for Christmas. An elf disguised as Smokin’ Hot Love Biscuit stuffed our stockings with protective gear, and for good measure, he included a personalized directive asking Santa for harmonicas – not skates. Because he’s been such a good boy, he got three harps and nothing with wheels. That’s how he rolls.

My skating vision involved a seventh grade version of myself. Back then, I was a smooth operator, cruising into the skate bathroom to check my spiral perm and fix the rubber bands on my braces. I could turn with the cross over and sling friends. I coupled up in a sweaty hand hold, singing along to, “Once, Twice, Three Times a Laaaaady.” On occasion, I skated on one leg, crouching down into the famous “shoot the duck” of early eighties skate culture.

The fifty-four-year-old reality was not the sugarplum and candy cane fantasy that I envisioned. My inaugural experience on Christmas Day resembled a big rig contemplating the runaway truck ramp. At the wide-eyed horror and hilarity of my children, I tore through some mulch and shrubs to decelerate before a hard stop on my arse. After that, I clued into a fundamental law of physics, a continued parable that I must learn and relearn in my life – anticipate when and how to brake.

Since then, I’ve been practicing, cutting a swarth around the perimeter of a newly paved, sparsely populated parking lot. I’ve been befriended by a boarder and cyclist. They fell into my routine one afternoon and chatted about bearings and truck turn radius and getting gnar air when they catch the stoke in the bowl. I listened and tried hard not to fall down. They liked my skates which means Santa out purchased my talent, but they dig me because I’m no poser. ­That’s what the crew said when we were down in the session. Insert Shaka hand here.

Though not yet ready for roller derby, the repetitive motion of my recent skating has provided me space to shift my mind into neutral and reflect on the past year. Away from technology, outside and moving is when I meditate and pray. I have always been this way – motion is my zen and I’m happy that God meets me and skates beside me. Righteous, dude.

My 2021 word of the year was tides and I’m most grateful for this north star. Written on the white board in my office, I’ve looked at it every day, letting its meaning wash over and through me.

There have indeed been tides – highs, lows, and even kings. And, as with the ancient, ever-changing ocean, tides has been a reminder that as good or bad as it gets, clean the slate and move ahead with a forward-thinking mind.

With 2021 and tides, I abandoned my annual vision board practice and built nature altars. I’ve made wreaths of leaves, cairns of rocks, circles of shells, pyramids of sticks. Some were captured by my camera, all were admired and left behind, an act of quiet gratitude in transitional timing. It’s cool with me that the water and wind and rain and snow came for these presents I left for the universe and its inhabitants. That’s what I’ve learned this year through the lens of tides – the timeless enormity and anonymity of my being.

For the first time since I got my soul rattling health diagnosis in 2018, I was able to say out loud to my closest inner circle of friends last week – (it took me all of 2021 for the tide to fully turn me,) “I’m better. I think I’m going to be okay.”

While those sentences sound simple and maybe even mundane, the moving tide of life and acceptance helped me get here, helped me rise and fall around making peace with the uncertainty of mortality, helped me be okay.

I’m not yet sure what 2022’s word will be. I’ll think about it during my skating sesh so that I’m not stalled out lest I come across as sketchy. Let’s just say that my research into skate lingo uncovered that a scorpion is a wipeout so harsh that one’s feet nearly touch the back of one’s head . So, it’s not going to be scorpion.

It’s a brand new day in a brand new year and I am humbled by the gift of a fresh canvas and the chance to breathe and live as fully as heaven will allow.