Ask anyone who knows me……I’m clumsy. If there is a drawer open, I’ll run into it. If a cord is on the floor, I’ll trip over it. If doors have handles facing out, I’m sure to hit them with my elbow at least once. Through all these clumsy moments, I’ve learned to laugh. If you can’t laugh at yourself, life is going to be really hard.
Yesterday, I fell prey to my clumsy disposition. It was a situation ripe with disaster for someone like me: moving. Carrying heavy furniture down three flights of stairs is hard enough for someone with a perfect sense of space and balance. It started out without a glitch. I helped carry a mattress first. My little hands could wrap around the forgiving cushion well. I didn’t even trip down a single stair.
The next piece of furniture on the agenda: the sectional couch. I let the men handle the heaviest piece of the sectional, but like I’ve mentioned before, I sometimes don’t understand how small I really am. I lift weights and workout. I feel strong. All this to say, I volunteered to help one of the gentlemen carry the second heaviest piece of the sectional. Everything started off well. We were able to move out of the front door with only a minor finger smash. Even the first flight of stairs seemed manageable. But as we turned down the second flight at lightning speed, I could feel the couch slipping from my fingers. I was able to communicate this almost mishap, regroup and continue down what felt like an endless set of stairs. I swear each flight multiplied by about 1,000 steps.
At last, we made it to those final few stairs. As we inched closer to the U-Haul, I felt that dreaded slip happening again. I tried to communicate the upcoming, unlucky accident to my partner, but it was too late. The couch dragged me down, and I fell forward. My knees scraped against the concrete, and the couch fell to the ground. I looked up as everyone stared. I found myself the first one to speak, and I apologized for dropping the couch. Who am I? Quickly, thereafter, my boyfriend rushed to my side to ensure I was OK. I stood up, brushed off my bloody knees and bruised thighs, and assured him I was fine. I scaled the flights with a little less speed this time and continued to help carry slightly less heavy objects down the stairs.
We all fall over sometimes. We all bleed and bruise. We all get embarrassed. It’s what we do with our falls, spills and embarrassing moments that matter. When I fell in front of everyone, I could have whined and ruined the process. I could have been so embarrassed I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Instead, I laughed at myself, tended to my wounds and moved forward. We all need to spend quality time healing our wounds, but sometimes it’s all too easy to let those wounds define us, hinder us, embarrass us to the point of hermit-ism. Instead, let’s use these wounds to teach us, to prove our resilience, and to help us grow into an even stronger, confident person. Today, I’m definitely soar, but I know that next time I participate in the moving process, I’ll take into account my clumsy nature and short stature. Maybe, just maybe, I won’t try to help carry one of the heaviest pieces of furniture down flights upon flights of stairs, but I’m not making any promises.