The Past
I've always been a dreamer. The kind of person who watches movies and imagines myself effortlessly recreating those magical moments. When I moved to a northern industrial town after growing up in a warm southern state, I was determined to embrace every winter experience Hollywood had promised me.
My partner Halden, who'd lived here his entire life, found my enthusiasm both adorable and slightly amusing. He was ten years older, graceful in ways I could only imagine, and seemed to glide through life with an ease I desperately wanted to capture. When I suggested ice skating as our New Year's Day adventure, he raised an eyebrow but agreed with a gentle smile.
'Are you sure?' he asked, that knowing look in his eyes. But I was convinced. I'd inline skated as a kid. How different could ice skating be? I imagined us twirling under soft lights, him catching me if I stumbled, both of us laughing and creating a picture-perfect memory.
The Turning Point
Reality hit differently. And by 'differently', I mean I literally hit the ice—face first. Those first twenty minutes were a comedy of errors. While children zipped past me, I clung to a plastic walker designed for literal toddlers, my pride dissolving with each shuffling moment.
Finally mustering some courage, I released the walker. For a brief, glorious moment, I was skating. Free. Graceful. Then gravity and physics conspired against my romantic fantasy. One moment I was moving, the next I was sailing through the air in what I'm certain was NOT the elegant trajectory I'd imagined.
The impact was stunning. Literally. My ears rang. My vision blurred. I couldn't quite comprehend what had happened, only that the cold, hard ice had very different plans for my romantic afternoon than I did.
Looking Back Now
The emergency room was not how I'd pictured our first major date of the year going. Two fractured facial bones later, I understood that real romance isn't about perfect moments—it's about who stands beside you when things go spectacularly wrong.
Halden never once made me feel foolish. He held my hand, kept me awake during the CT scans, and made terrible jokes to keep my spirits up. 'Well,' he said, 'at least we'll always remember this New Year's.' His calm transformed my embarrassment into something softer, something that felt like genuine connection.
The Lesson
Romance isn't about executing perfect plans. It's about embracing imperfection, laughing through the unexpected, and finding connection in vulnerability. Sometimes love looks like someone holding ice to your bruised face, making sure you're okay.
What This Taught Me
Adventures rarely go as planned. But the stories we tell afterward? Those are the real memories. Those are what matter.
I learned that day that trying—truly attempting something new—matters more than succeeding. Halden's steady presence taught me that true partnership isn't about avoiding falls, but about how you help each other back up.