When I was 8 years old, I wanted to be a veterinarian. It was my calling.

I used a perfectly functional plastic stethoscope to listen to my cat’s breathing patterns which, after thorough testing, I deduced to be stable. I even got practice with my friend’s albino rabbit, opening up the possibility of future work with exotic animals.

When I was 8-and-a-half years old, I learned that veterinarians put animals to sleep. In an unrelated change of plans, I decided later that day that I should become a starving artist-my love of berets and the ability to write the number 25 and add a few lines to it so that the image morphed into a cartoon dog were too great to ignore.

I have an unfortunate knack for loving things, or at least the idea of things, that I can’t do. I would never be able to put an animal to sleep without turning into a blubbering, sobbing mess. And as great as my American Girl Magazine-learned drawing skills may be, the whole starving aspect of being a starving artist eventually made the occupation lose its appeal.

I love the idea of sushi, but I hate the actual food; I want to be well-versed in the political happenings of the world, but I can’t live with myself if I don’t check Pink is the new Blog website 25 times a day; I want to live the life of a cool, too-hot-to-trot socialite, but I vowed never to set foot in another club after a scarring encounter with numerous overly aggressive salsa dancers in Texas. That, and I use phrases like too-hot-to-trot.

It is fitting that one of my favorite Christmastime activities would be ice-skating. And my dream-crushing rink of choice is Steinberg Skating Rink in Forest Park.

I’m that kid at the skating rink who manages to fall down while holding onto the railing outside of the rink. And while putting on the skates. And directly after I gain enough courage to let go of the railing. And while watching my “High School Musical On Ice”-ready roommate do a triple salchow. And while walking in heels-but that’s another problem.

None of that matters at Steinberg, though; I’m welcome there. It is just the atmosphere I want from an outdoor rink. It’s large, without managing to be too overwhelming-just enough ground for me to circle around at least once in the hour or so I’m there.

In addition, it isn’t loaded with gaudy Christmas decorations everywhere you turn. The lights and garlands on the inside lobby coupled with the crackling fire just next to the rink give off plenty of Christmastime feel without having to resort to dancing Santas and inflatable snow globes. The backdrop for the rink is perfect as well, with the trees in Forest Park making me feel like I’m in some sort of grandiose, old-fashioned movie where families in some small town gather at the local pond after it freezes over.

If you got rid of the rink guard and went at a time when it isn’t crowded-namely a weekday night-you’re only a Tim Meadows appearance away from being featured on ABC Family’s “25 Days of Christmas” lineup.

Celebrating its 50th birthday this year, Steinberg Rink also manages to add enough history and tradition to its venue to keep my inner historian pleased. It’s a combination of everything I love: the cute, the traditional and the impossible for me to do.

So maybe I won’t be Michelle Kwan when I grow up. Maybe I won’t even be a poor man’s Tara Lipinski. At least one thing is for sure: If all else fails, I’ll always look good wearing a beret. Always.

Kelley Dunn is a sophomore in the College of Arts and Sciences.