Tonight entry might be blessedly short, as my right hand is bruised, a little swollen, and stiff.
Before you freak out, let me assure you that it's not as bad as it sounds. But it's enough so that typing is just not the most pleasant thing, and I'm not really one for hunt and peck. If I can't type as fast as I think (which I pretty much do), then I'm out. Or maybe I'll just soldier through, as is my wont. (I live for being able to use that word: wont)
So...late this afternoon, I decided (in cahoots with my daughter) that I was really up for some ecologically irresponsible food, so I traipsed out (I love traipsing) to the local farm stand which is anything but a farm stand--more like a mega-church that sells mesclun. Yeah, I've read Barbara Kingsolver's new book.
[abrupt left turn accompanied by screeching] I just wrote Susan Brownmiller instead of Barbara Kingsolver. Interesting. Kinda similar syllabically; that's my story and I'm sticking to it. It's a lot better than trying to draw a parallel between the effects on the environment that result from desire to eat watermelon in the off season and rape, if you get my drift. [squealing back on to the road again]
I like a blog post with sound effects. Don't you?
So I was on my way out to the farm stand, and I tripped on one of the stones in my front walkway on my way to the car.
Exhibit A: Evil Walkway. Please to glare appropriately, despite visible rays of sun from God.
It was quite a trip. It was almost one of those slow motion things--I could see myself in the air, see myself going down. I had enough time to think "Is there any way I can stop this? No. I can't". I could see that I was going to end up fully flat on the ground, which I did. My glasses flew off and landed about two feet away, so I count that as pretty spectacular. I must have pretty good reflexes or instincts or whatever, because I had four initial points of impact--my right hand, my left forearm, and both of my knees--before my entire body and head were prone on the front walk, that is.
Now, some of you don't know me very well. And some of you don't know me at all. And those of you who do know me already know what I'm going to say, which is that I'm a stoic. I prefer to think of myself as easy going, letting things slide off my back, but that might be rubbish. I think I'm probably a stoic. In any case, I got up, went back inside, checked my bumps and bruises, washed off all the aforementioned points of impact, and carried on, watermelon and all. It scared my kid, who, blessedly, did not see it happen, or she would never let me walk out the front door again. It scared me, too, but I'm not telling anyone. Oh. Oops. It mostly left me feeling like sometimes it stinks to have to be the grownup, to think more about reassuring your overly anxious kid than about being hurt or being scared or being embarrassed. So playing it down was the name of the game. Of course, that was then, and this is now. It hurts.
You might be wondering what this has got to do with relativity. Well, I'm gonna tell you.
This evening, I spent some time browsing around a few of my favorite blogs (they're there on the left side of the screen, check 'em out). One of the interesting gifts of this nablopomo challenge (also on left side of your screen) is that, in writing every day for a month, I have started to feel not so much like someone who has a blog, but like a blogger. It's different. There is a community of bloggers. There are differences in desire for readership, in how you respond to people who comment that you seem to have too much time on your hands, in whether, when people ask "what do you do?", you say you are a writer. There are probably--no, definitely--other differences too. For me, it's a feeling, a sensation. I am starting to feel in community with bloggers, especially women. It's kinda neat. A few weeks ago, I didn't even know that such a community really existed.
So in my browsing, I came across an intensely powerful blog entry. It's about perspective. Here it is, take a look. And from there, I followed the breadcrumbs. It's one of the most interesting and fun things about blogs and bloggers, following breadcrumbs. And I read the blog that this post referred to. If you want to see it, it's here. And I thought here I am, hurting from falling on my front walk, and feeling a little sorry for myself that I don't have someone to take care of me, to tell me that it's okay to be a little less than the stoic grownup for a few minutes, to have the space to whine a little bit....and really, I'm so lucky. I didn't hit my head. I didn't break anything. I didn't require medical attention. My daughter wasn't watching. I was able to get up by myself. I was able to carry on as planned. These are all good things. And this perspective arose, albeit indirectly, from agreeing to blog every day for a month. It just goes to show you, we never know what lies beneath.
So I guess what I'm saying is that I recognize that there's something to be learned here. I get that. I have to attend to and honor my own experience, my own physical pain or discomfort, not in comparison or competition with others, but in recognition that this is just how it is.
I also know that the first tiny step is admitting that I'm powerless over watermelon. I've done that, so I feel like I'm on my way. Although I'm not sure that's quite the point. That is, unless you are one of those people who believe that I was struck down by spirit of Al Gore as some sort of karma thing. It's possible. I wanna go on record as saying that if it's gonna happen, though, I'd rather be struck down by Barbara Kingsolver.