A COMPLETE
As above so below
As in skateboarding so in life
My daughter is a hummingbird who pushes up against the boundaries of readiness.
When it was time for preschool, my husband and I carefully selected a Waldorf inspired school that was cozy, gentle and afforded lots of time for imaginative play and the great outdoors. We imagined her having space to draw and paint, play with puppets and visit the local creek for a daily walk, rain or shine.
I deeply align with Steiner (the Austrian scientist behind Waldorf style education) when it comes to matching where children are in development with physical tasks. It’s genius to have adolescents who so desperately need to push up against something to be engaged in the act of woodworking, hammering nails into wood and creating their own worlds through the manipulation of hard materials. It’s so damn smart, as it integrates the physical with the intellectual and the spiritual all under the lens of development. I was excited for all the wonders that awaited my daughter within the walls of a Waldorf education. We thought not only would it work for preschool, but it would work as she got older too. We never really imagined anything else for her.
Ha!
Looking back now, if there is one lesson from parenting that smacks you in the face over and over again is that everything changes, even the best laid plans can fail in the most spectacular of ways, and once you get close to figuring out whatever it is you are struggling to figure out, it will change. Again. And your task will be to navigate yet another set of choppy seas.
Not only was my daughter not happy at a Waldorf school, but she led the way in wanting out. Who could have guessed that at two and a half she would want to read and write and be endlessly aggravated at why that wasn’t happening at school. “I’m done making muffins,” she said. When we told her that is it common for Waldorf classrooms not to emphasize reading and writing until age 6 or 7, she made it clear she wanted out. So for the first of many times, she took sovereignty over the path of her education.
At two and a half. My husband and I must be bonkers.
This push for being ready long before it is formally called upon her hasn’t changed. At 13, she begins a class at the local community college next week because she’s super into Political Science and well, it’s hard to find a Poly Sci course for middle schoolers. So once again she led the way.
Who knows how this will go, but isn't it nice for kids to take big steps and have systems acknowledge where they are at and take chances on them. I wish this happened more often.
Along with diving deep into Poly Sci, she also wants to get a job. Today. And not any job, but a much coveted spot behind the build table at our local skate shop. And this just simply cannot happen. To work at the shop she needs to be at least 15, so she’s got some time to wait this out. Waiting can be a good thing, although it seldom seems as such for teenagers. Or the waiting is a lesson that they really aren’t interested in, but desperately need. That kind of thing. So while she is waiting she’s immersed herself in how to build a custom complete.
A “complete” is a full skateboard. One with all the necessary parts to hop on and roll away. A deck, trucks, wheels, bearings, grip tape, are the basics. You can purchase a ready made complete from most skate shops, my first board was a ready made complete and ready mades are a nice way to try out skateboarding without getting overwhelmed by all the various specific components and offerings. One skateboard can vary quite a bit from another with different wheels, bearings and trucks. Decks come in different widths, shapes, types of wood. These differences impact the way they handle.
Skateboarding is like anything else. If you want to get swept away in the minutiae, you totally can. It reminds me a bit of all the variations in phonographic equipment. Some folks are good with a basic turntable and then there are those who swear by a specific needle and set of extras that enhance their experience.
The building of a custom complete is a skill. There’s a lot of little things to learn. What truck sizes fit which board widths best, what wheels are best for different surfaces and speeds and deck sizes. Hollow trucks, titanium trucks, ceramic bearings, it goes on and on. And then there’s laying the grip tape. Ooof. That’s a beast.
As we have both been learning together, mostly through multiple grip tape failures, it occurred to me how interesting it is that out of all endeavors, skateboarding uses the word “complete” for anything. As a pursuit, skateboarding is a beacon for those of us hummingbirds who kind of love always being green. A feeling of incompleteness. That there is always more to learn, further to go, a refinement that requires more study, skill, attention.
Skateboarding is anything but complete and once you do get a sense of completion, there is always more to learn. And when there is nothing left to learn, there is an invitation to create something entirely new that no one has done before. If you are ever looking to be a finalized expert or an established authority in something, do not try skateboarding. It will only let you down. You will never, ever be finished.
This amuses me greatly. The idea of something built upon being forever incomplete offering a single version of something complete. Just one thing. It’s kind of funny. Also freeing in a way.
I enjoy how through a “complete” this single act of completeness gets the notion immediately out of the way. Here’s something complete. That’s all you’ll ever get. So have it and be done with the notion that you will find the experience of completeness here.
There’s something inherently wise about this. A space is opened up, potential is created from this seemingly simple and insignificant naming of something. Perhaps in the receiving of a complete we are free to somehow check that box. Make the mark that this act we can become so consumed with is already done. Here’s your complete. It’s over with now. Get on with the good stuff. The uncertainty. The feeling your way through something.
I’ve been musing about how this idea relates to the creative process. Something that so often eludes the act of being complete. As creatives we go from one process to the next. Completion becomes a sort of death, as we finish one process and call our energy back to create all over again. Is a thing no longer alive to us once it is no longer in process? Do we live for the process or the completion? How does completion lend itself to the next birth, creation, idea? How does the process shape our future creations? What if we were able to truly get completion out of the way right from the get go? What happens then?
Big questions.
None of which I have answers to yet.
Let me know what you think.
xxx
LAS
