Why I Don't Want to be a Unicorn

In trying to tell people about acrobatics, what it is, and why I love it, I usually get one of two reactions:
1) "You're crazy, but in a good way."
2) "You're just crazy."

I think I've realised why both these reactions feel unsatisfactory to me: it makes me feel like a unicorn.

Unicorns are very rare creatures - so rare in fact that they're extinct. People don't think about unicorns on a regular basis, but when they do, they regard them with a mixture of fascination and the knowledge that they need to hold them at arm's length. This is because people who cuddle unicorns, as bright and shiny as they may be, are generally frowned upon by society.

I don't want to be a unicorn. I want to be a dog. A big fluffy golden retriever that people want to engage with. When I say, "I do acrobatics", I want people to react to it like I just said, "I run," or even, "I love golf." I want there to be a chance that people will say, "Hey, me too! We should do it together sometime!"

The process of becoming a unicorn: This means more to me than just being able to do handstands.

The process of becoming a unicorn isn't without its upsides though. In a strange way, I can't help but relate this to sharing my faith in God. Now, I realise that in saying this, I've made myself an even rarer kind of unicorn, the acrobatic God-loving kind. And how many of those are there?

Being uncomfortable in life was definitely not my goal. But I'm beginning to understand why it's so important. At the end of my life, I want to know that I stood for the things that are not only important to me, but important for the future. And you just can't do that by sitting on the fence.