How can my desire to fly coexist with the need to stay grounded?
Whoosh! Palms flexed, pain searing through them. Whoosh! Stomach in, looking at my toes. Whoosh! Time I didn’t think I had. Feet hit the ground. A jump, milliseconds of suspension, I’m defying gravity. Muscle memory, like I was born to soar. Too much thinking and I fall. Anxiety nags, but all I feel is the wind whisking my hair off my face. One, two, okay now go! Flip-flop-whoosh-swish-bam! Nailed it.
I didn’t understand it. Why couldn’t I ever sit still? Why did my teacher always ask me to go into the hallway and spin three times? “You have the wiggles,” my parents said. That was my diagnosis. As I’ve grown up, it’s taken me a long time to understand my “wiggles” and what my limitations are, if any.
One, two, three flips in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, unafraid, I notice how high up I am. I’m told the sky’s the limit, but I know I can go higher. Careful now …. Laser eyesight, then my focus is lost in the confusion of twists and turns. I remember the pressure, the air pushing against me, willing me not to split its molecules. Yet every time I do.
I have ADHD. Real, honest-to-goodness, diagnosed Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. But I am not a disorder.
“Again!” Coach yells. Utilize my strength, connect my body and mind. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, willing me to ignore science: forget gravity and physics and energy. Impulses insisting I fly, from my soul, from my heart, from every tendril of my curly blonde hair.
There are plenty of people who have difficulty focusing or sitting still, but my ADHD is not like anyone else’s. I started taking medication at age six, and every day since then I’ve had to remember to take it. It’s not a choice for me; it’s not just on school days.
My pulse races, and my breathing becomes shallow. Again I try, flip-flop-whoosh-swish-bam! Floating down to my feet like an autumn leaf freed of its fastening.
ADHD does not define me.
Practicing again and again, falling to my knees, landing anywhere but my feet. Wind rushing past my ears, eyes welling up before I touch down. Never saying “I can’t.” I won’t let fear take over my desire to glide through the sky.
My instinct is to be reckless, but safety dictates I follow the rules, stay focused. My medication ensures that this is possible. My sport has taught me how to harness my “wiggles.” I needed to learn control, both mental and physical. It’s always difficult; it’s an ongoing hurdle.
I am a rocket during takeoff. I shoot into the air like I can’t escape the atmosphere fast enough. Stay tight now; if I loosen up my rocket descends. Up, up, and away finally, pull my body close. All eyes on me for what feels like an eternity yet only a heartbeat has passed.
Is it possible to fly? Yes. Is it possible to stay grounded? Of course. I have spent my lifetime learning how to do both. It’s ironic that controlling my ADHD is instrumental in my pursuit of flight. My body soars, but my mind stays grounded.