I was nine – or close to it – when I went to a riding day camp. I saved pennies, folded laundry, and washed dishes (for something dramatically lower than minimum wage) to earn the money to go. I was so excited. Visions of trotting and jumping cantered gracefully through my imagination. Imagine my surprise when the first thing they taught us was how to fall.
“Roll with it,” was the advice we were given.
I was nineteen when I married the man I love. I had visions of happily-ever-after, candlelight dinners and romantic walks on the beach flitting through my mind. Imagine my surprise when I discovered he did the laundry “wrong.”
“Just roll with it,” said an older, wiser friend. “There’s more than one way to do, well, everything.”
I was twenty-one when my son was born. I had visions of an adorable nursery and buggy-pushing walks rolling through my mind. Imagine my surprise when he’d only sleep in my arms and wanted to eat all the time.
“Roll with it,” advised a kind midwife, “He knows what he needs.”
I was twenty-five when the ultrasound tech looked up from the screen and said, “It’s twins.” Visions of crying nights, sleepless days, and never being “enough” cast clouds of anxiety over my mind. Imagine my surprise. (There was a lot of surprise.)
“Roll into bed whenever you can,” said an experienced mother of twins, “Make peace with the fact that you’ll have to do some things differently.”
Just roll with it. Turns out to be the best advice I ever received, so I pass it on: the next time life clobbers you, don’t beat your head against it. Just roll. And when the world stops spinning, take a look back and see what you’ve learned.