Field Note No. 14

Gravity Remains Undefeated

Daycare drop off went smoothly. Too smoothly.

Confidence got the best of me, and instead of stepping off the curb like a cautious, aging adult, I did a little hop. A jaunty exit. A woman who clearly has her life together.

I rolled my ankle.

My legs flew up into the air like I had been launched. My head made direct, undeniable contact with the front bumper of my own car. My own vehicle. Betrayal from within.

I lay there for a moment, staring at the sky.

This is where I live now.

I took inventory:
Foot, bleeding.
Ankle, throbbing.
Hand, also bleeding.
Dignity, not responding.

Head?
Mostly fine, I think. Which feels suspicious.

I stood up eventually, brushed myself off, and looked around to see if anyone had witnessed my final moments.

Unknown.

Which is somehow worse.

Then I had to crawl into my car like I had not just been physically humbled by a curb. Smiling. Waving. As if I hadn’t just briefly met God in the parking lot.

Anyway, see you all tomorrow. I will be stepping down from curbs like a pilgrim approaching holy ground.