Lessons From The Velveteen Rabbit

The Velveteen Rabbit

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse.

“It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

–Margery Williams

 

I’ve noticed that I often have a problem making certain goals and dreams become realities. I’ve thought a lot about why this is. What I am doing wrong, what is blocking me, and what could snap me out of this cycle. I’ve come to the conclusion that my fear makes me hide many of my interests, talents, and passions. My dreams seem much safer tucked away inside my mind where no one and nothing can hurt them. They’re preserved there for me to visit anytime I like. There they are, perfect little untouched toys. Never touched, never harmed, never real. And there I am next to them, the same.

I do, however, feel safe in certain pursuits. Goals of mine that are clear-cut and follow a certain pre-paved trajectory have always seemed attainable to me. I like benchmarks and objective measures that let me evaluate my own achievements by external standards. I don’t want to have to rely on my own internal judgment too much for these things. For me, school was one of these places. I was lucky enough to go to a great school, with teachers who encouraged and believed in me. I was able to take tests well without ever feeling too vulnerable or exposed. However, the main place I thrived was in the ballet studio. Again, ballet provided me with a defined way to achieve my goals. Take ballet class 5 times per week. Work on your own after class. Attend rehearsals. Always, always, wear your pointe shoes. Even if your feet hurt, and you have blisters, and your stress fractures are throbbing. Always. Wear. The. Pointe shoes. The measures of success and failure in this environment were always apparent to me. You fall out of a pirouette, there’s no wondering whether it went well or not. You get into prestigious summer dance programs, you know you’re on the right track. I loved ballet, and it felt as if everything else in the world fell away during those years. I was pushed in the studio beyond any limits I thought I had. I discovered that limitations are just an idea– they’re a fake concept we make up about ourselves and are something to be discarded as soon as possible. I am forever grateful for these lessons.

It seems that since my dancing years (which ended 10 years ago), I have become gripped by many dreams that do not follow such a clear trajectory with defined rules and benchmarks for success. I want to do well in graduate school, which means doing “good science.” Where are my exact rules for that? Unfortunately, I must read, synthesize and evaluate for myself what that means. There’s no one to tell me what my own particular brand of good science will be. This concept leaves me feeling like I’ve been dropped in a giant black box, forced to feel my way around while worrying that everyone else was given night vision goggles. In short, it’s terrifying.

I also want to write. I want to write papers, books, and blog posts. But again, there will always be people who dislike what I write. What then? I’ve chosen to believe that this means I will be REAL. I will be roughed up, but stronger. My endeavors will be weathered, maybe have lost some fur and look a little shabby at times, but they will be manifested. I have decided that the imperfect book that impacts just one soul is better than the perfect book that may impact hundreds but only lives in my mind. It all comes down, in essence, to vulnerability. Authenticity requires vulnerability and courage. It also requires the confidence to re-enter the stage after being struck, even if we have are nursing a black eye and aren’t feeling entirely “presentable.” I’d like to thank my years of ballet, for gifting me flexibility. May it help me to bend, not break, in this process of becoming real.