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Wildfire was a challenging experience this year for me. Most years it has been a struggle between expectations and reality, of trying to burn and being eclipsed by others fire. Wildfire is not a competitive event, but competitions are sure to arise.
I'm an introvert at heart. Fire spinning, performing in general, draws a lot of extroverts. While extroverts can thrive in an environment like Wildfire, for introverts it can be quite a hurdle. Some days I was better at fighting this than others. There are times when you see things that other people have, and see what you lack, and the longing for that rises up and cocoons you from the rest of the world.
We were warned at the start of the event: dehydration kills. I let this slip my mind, and it turned a downward mood swing become something completely toxic that "lost" me half a day of connecting with a group of amazing and open people. We were told something else in one of our classes: "Gratitude is a euphoric state." Think of something to be grateful for before you spin. Over the course of the class, I thought of what I was truly grateful for, and it showed in my spinning.
Sunday night I saw a lot of beautiful spinning. I saw a field full of female spinners upstaged by a daring man with a flaming umbrella. I saw movement and fire joined together so perfectly it caught my breath. I saw people facing their fear of fire, challenging themselves. I learned of other people who have fear of heights performing on the lyra over and over, facing their fear.
The very act of going to Wildfire is facing my fear. Fears of avoidance, of desire, of making a connection. Every time I go I enter a situation where I could be uncomfortable, or be sick with envy, or humbled by the performances I see. But every time I go, I make a choice. I choose to face my fears and weather them, to come through stronger than my fears and more comfortable with myself. I do not need to be the best spinner on the field, I need to love what I do. I do not need to make the most friends, because I have several good ones. I don't need to envy the person who is the center of attention or passions, because one can be strong and certain and happy even in solitude.
These are the classes that are not on the schedule. I sign up for them when I buy my ticket. Even though the classes are the same each season, the people are different. Every class holds something new to learn. The more I can face each class with my chin up and smile through it, the more brightly I will burn at the end. And that light never goes unnoticed.
I'm an introvert at heart. Fire spinning, performing in general, draws a lot of extroverts. While extroverts can thrive in an environment like Wildfire, for introverts it can be quite a hurdle. Some days I was better at fighting this than others. There are times when you see things that other people have, and see what you lack, and the longing for that rises up and cocoons you from the rest of the world.
We were warned at the start of the event: dehydration kills. I let this slip my mind, and it turned a downward mood swing become something completely toxic that "lost" me half a day of connecting with a group of amazing and open people. We were told something else in one of our classes: "Gratitude is a euphoric state." Think of something to be grateful for before you spin. Over the course of the class, I thought of what I was truly grateful for, and it showed in my spinning.
Sunday night I saw a lot of beautiful spinning. I saw a field full of female spinners upstaged by a daring man with a flaming umbrella. I saw movement and fire joined together so perfectly it caught my breath. I saw people facing their fear of fire, challenging themselves. I learned of other people who have fear of heights performing on the lyra over and over, facing their fear.
The very act of going to Wildfire is facing my fear. Fears of avoidance, of desire, of making a connection. Every time I go I enter a situation where I could be uncomfortable, or be sick with envy, or humbled by the performances I see. But every time I go, I make a choice. I choose to face my fears and weather them, to come through stronger than my fears and more comfortable with myself. I do not need to be the best spinner on the field, I need to love what I do. I do not need to make the most friends, because I have several good ones. I don't need to envy the person who is the center of attention or passions, because one can be strong and certain and happy even in solitude.
These are the classes that are not on the schedule. I sign up for them when I buy my ticket. Even though the classes are the same each season, the people are different. Every class holds something new to learn. The more I can face each class with my chin up and smile through it, the more brightly I will burn at the end. And that light never goes unnoticed.
