Feets, Don’t Fail Me Now!

Being the Jill-of-All-Trades that I am, one of my side jobs is working for my sister-in-law’s catering company. The running joke amongst my colleagues is me and stairs. When loading and unloading crates of supplies and pans of food, I can carry my weight. Until I hit the stairs. Porch stairs. Walkway stairs. Up, down, one step or 20. If I’m loaded up and I come to a step, I’m paralyzed. I take stairs every day. I run up and down subway stairs, the stairs to my office. What is it about this particular circumstance that stops me in my tracks? Well, I think I’ve figured it out. I can’t see my feet. And if I can’t see my feet, how can I trust that they will do what they are supposed to do? Maybe they’ll trip. Or slip on a patch of ice. Maybe they’ll miss a step and I’ll fall and break my neck. Maybe they’ll decide they have somewhere better to be and take off. The point is if I can’t see what’s happening, I can’t be sure. I can’t trust that the feet I’ve lived with for 57 years are going to manage the steps just fine even if I can’t see them. Better just to stay on flat land. Where it’s safe. And flat. And nothing bad ever happens. It’s not particularly interesting. But there’s nothing waiting to trip you up. No slipping or sliding, no flailing and falling. The truth is, though, if you never trip and fall, you never learn to pick yourself up and try again.

Fall or Fly

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