I am in a constant state of recovery from injuries sustained during falls. I fall down stairs, I slip on icy driveways, I fall out of bed, and I trip over uneven sidewalks. I also fall UP the stairs, I trip over nothing at all, and I slip on perfectly sunny days. I walk into walls, I bump my head, I bang my shins, and I stub my toes. While this is not exactly falling, I often fall because of the bumping, banging, or stubbing.
I spill things, I break things, and I drop things. Things literally fall away from me. Yesterday, I opened the trunk of my SUV, and a jar of spaghetti sauce rolled out of a grocery bag, and smashed onto the garage floor, splattering the cement and the surrounding snow with tomato sauce and shards of glass. I very, very carefully cleaned the mess (which, incidentally, looked like a murder scene but smelled like an Italian restaurant) using gloves and a broom, but still managed to cut my finger on an invisible piece of glass. After I had retrieved the remaining groceries, I closed my own trunk on my own thumb.
Last winter, I was getting into my best friend Lisa's car, parked behind the bookstore, precariously near a pile of snow. I tried to balance on a small strip of clear pavement while pulling the passenger door open, but my hand slipped, and I was sent careening into the nearby snowbank. From my new, very cold, vantage point, I could see Lisa, laughing. I know she would have helped me if she hadn't been warm and laughing so hard. I forgive her; she has caught me often, pulling me from far more difficult situations than a snow pile.
It's just the way in which I live. I am forever bruised, both physically and on the inside, where I house my dignity.
But there are other ways to fall.
I fall in love. With my husband, truly and madly, whom I married 22 years ago today, and with my children, the very second they were born. I fall to the right, I fall for movie stars, and I fall for nearly any prank thrown in my direction. I fall into a good book, and I more often than not, I fall for the twist at the end. I have been known to fall to my knees.
My favorite season? You don't even have to ask. It is, and always has been, winter. Did you fall for that? I'm kidding of course. It's fall.
And while "things" tend to fall away from my person, I think perhaps the universe has made up for this by the amount of wondrous love that clings to me. Children that snuggle me, even in their teenage years. A husband who wants to hang out with me a lot. A twelve-year old boy who wants to be so close to me on the couch that I can't move my legs. A best friend who knows so much about my schedule that she can remind me of my own appointments, drive me if necessary, and bring me a cardigan because I might forget. Group texts with special friends which act like a touchpoint in my day. Parents, friends, family, in-laws--all who are connected with me on a daily basis. I may drop the pasta sauce, but I'm a magnet for the things that truly matter.
I couldn't fall if I tried.
If you are a faller, like me, take heart. The next time you trip, remember your open heart, full of ways in which you fall for the world around you, and remember those who have been placed there to catch you. When you drop something, remember everything that sticks to you like a heart-shaped Post-it note.
Fall for falling. It's not so bad. Bruises are badges of living your life out loud. Oh, that's another thing--I'm really loud. But that's another story...
