To My Stressed Out Students: Watch Alysa Liu Skate

Office hours has been about joy ever since she got off the ice.

Stress management is a big topic in office hours. I’m not a stress management guru, or a psychologist, and chances are good I’m more stressed than the people who come to me. But that’s OK. We get through it together.

We’re in the arts, and I’ve decided I hate that word, because everything is an art, so the word describes nothing. And I think that’s the first stressor: What are we even doing? In my opinion, we’re just living. That’s the art. So, when we’re making so-called “art,” we think we have to step out of life and into a new place, a hyper-driven land of living-plus, where gestures are Gestures and thoughts are Thoughts and things are Important. All caps, all the time. That’s a stressor, too.

The two big complaints I get from students are “I’m blocked” and “I can’t find the motivation.” I mean, I get it. But I also get that both of those are forms of avoidance because we don’t know how to evaluate the art that was the act of living until we decided it was more important than living, so we called it art. I’m sorry—Art.

I’ve been watching the Olympics, and it’s been helpful to engage in an international news story that doesn’t infuriate, or give me hives, or make me fear for the future. I’m into the curling scandal, and the villainous French couples skaters, and skiers who were clearly named by Colorado hippies. I think I know where the bobsledders lost .06 seconds. As if.

I immediately gravitated to Alysa Liu. It’s the hair, and the vibe. She’s the type that walks into my office every day, psyched for the free Starbursts I leave in a jar next to my Magic-8 Ball. I didn’t know what to expect from her, because I know nothing about sports, let alone figure skating. So I watched her program, the one that won her the gold.

You can watch it here. You really, really should.

The comments:

Usually I’m worried for the skaters, hoping they land their whatever-its-called spins and such, but somehow, that all went away during her routine, and I was able to breathe deeply and just enjoy that everything was going to be all right. And when I say everything, I mean…everything. It’s a moment of human endeavor that I didn’t know I needed so badly. And when my students come in like Gordion knots of anxiety, and I want to give them examples of another way everything can be, Alysa’s program is what I’ve been pointing them to.

The backstory is instructive, but ultimately it’s hers, and can’t be replicated. What can be replicated is the act of returning to the joy of what we do, and the related joy of who we are. Because I don’t think I witnessed art on the ice—what I got from her was a philosophical reminder of what it is to be here. The fact that it came in the form of ice skating is almost immaterial.

How do we get back to that place when we feel we’ve lost our way? That’s a personal question. Maybe it means stepping away for a bit, like she did. Maybe it means dedicating oneself to something unrelated, or to service, or to whatever it is that’s itching you and wants your attention. I think all of these are clues to be followed towards wherever they go. It’s the following that creates the joy, I think.

Where does it lead? Gold medals all day long? I think the hard answer to wrap our heads around is, “That’s not the point.” I think Alysa skated like that’s not the point, and I think that’s the point.

I don’t refer students to a gold medal performance. I refer them to an elevated display of life, held up by the work, the technique, the exertion, and ultimately, by the mystery of being here for a brief time, suspended in midair.

Alysa gave me a tool to share with my students who feel separated from the joy of what they came here to do. The obstacles are substantial, I get it. But they’re surmountable. Alysa gave us a proof of it.

Music, Lyrics, and Life, available in print and audiobook.

Or you could just buy me a coffee.