The first time I ever picked up a baton, I was hooked. Back then, eight-year-old me never would have guessed that a little metal stick I was afraid to catch would become one of the main focuses of my life. Now 11 years after that fateful day, I've learned three-turns, elbow rolls, layouts, cartwheel tricks, and jazz pullups. I've also learned so much more about life from a sport most people don't even know exists than I have from almost anything else in my life.
Hard work pays off.
All the hours I logged in my driveway tossing the baton up and trying to spin around three times before it hit the ground taught me that no matter what you're doing or how impossible it may seem (like continuous elbow rolls), dedication and hard work will almost always guarantee the outcome you're looking for.
How to be a team player.
Most people think twirling is a solo sport, and I don't blame them, because it is to an extent. Most places that have twirlers only have one. However, the most impressive twirling moves can't be pulled off alone. Twirling on a line teaches you that bettering yourself and honing your talents benefits the group around you and also teaches you how to trust others. Tossing your baton up and cartwheeling on another person is really scary, but learning how to put your trust in others to catch you when you jump is so important. Because of twirling, I know I can lean on and trust those around me.
Failure can be productive.
Toss, turn, drop. Toss, turn, drop. Toss, turn...drop. Some twirling moves are easy, some not so much. Every drop, low kick, and missed count in twirling taught me that if at first you don't succeed, try, try again. As cliche as it sounds, and as much as I should have known it without twirling, I don't think I would have. I wouldn't have know it was OK to mess something up if I hadn't dropped in an important performance. I wouldn't have known you can live past not being the best if I hadn't tried out for head majorette in high school and not made it. Every small failure in twirling pushed me to work harder and be better as a twirler, and this lesson carried through every aspect of my life.
How to recover.
You're on the field—you lose your balance, and your baton flies to the next yard line. You can't stop, collect yourself, and start over like you want to. You have to keep going like nothing is wrong and finish the routine to the end. Everyone in twirling knows a good recovery is the mark of a good twirler, and recovering from your mistakes in life is the mark of a good, mature person. This taught me a lot about how I think God looks at us. We mess up as Christians, but the mess up isn't as important as a good recovery after we know we've messed up.
Sometimes it's frustrating explaining to people what exactly I do with my life since not many people fully understand twirling, but when I take a step back, I realize they don't need to understand exactly what I do on the field to understand twirling. Every aspect of it has affected my life off the field in a positive way.
