One thing I’ve gotten better at as I’ve aged is falling down. Perhaps figuratively, in the way that one is better able to accept their failures, but I’m specifically talking about the literal kind of falling down. Like on a sidewalk carrying a bunch of stuff, or in the middle of a busy intersection in Brooklyn, like I did yesterday.

And, no, I don’t mean that I’ve become more graceful at falling or that I now do less damage than I did twenty years ago when it was more age appropriate and, therefore, more socially acceptable to fall down in public. No, it’s still an awkward, drawn out, slow motion event where I flail helplessly for at least 5 minutes as I pitch forward, fighting the powerful cooperation between the earth’s gravitational force and the density of my skull. Kinda like this:

Except, as I’ve mentioned, I typically pitch forward. And, I don’t need the help of an icey sidewalk. And, I’m not a dude.

So, the story that inspired this post: Yesterday, in my ongoing pursuit for zen and a state of equanimity, I awkwardly half ran, half jogged in flip flops to a yoga class toting my bag and yoga mat. And, because I’m me, I’d left myself just enough time to get there…as long as I awkwardly half ran, half jogged the whole way and didn’t have to wait at any of the cross walks. So, you can imagine my excitement when it looked like I was going to make it JUST in time as long as I didn’t get held up waiting for the very  last walk light before the gym on the corner of 6th ave and 9th street.

With my destination in clear sight, I took off thinking “I’ll actually be a couple minutes early!” when suddenly my visual perspective changed.  I was no longer looking straight ahead at the blinking walk signal. Strangely, the pot-holed, gravelly terrain of 9th street rose up to meet my hands and I thought to myself “oh..I’m falling.” And then, “Naw, I can save this.” What followed was a desperate attempt to get one foot in front of the other fast enough to keep my upper extremities (and face) from making contact with the pavement.

I failed. I fell in the middle of a busy intersection with an estimated 50 or so witnesses.  I fell hands first with my legs in an ironically yoga-like twist, earning me a bruised knee and a harsh triangle-shaped configuration of cuts and road burn on my left ankle. I did manage to prevent a face plant  (silver lining).

Somehow, despite the slow motion nature of the fall, I managed to collect myself and my belongings before being flattened by oncoming traffic. I got to my class before it started, caught my breath and found “a comfortable seat in the center of my mat.”

I’m not gonna lie. For the first 10 minutes of class the only thing running through my head was the phrase “I just fell in the middle of 9th street” – on repeat. But, eventually, I managed to let it go and actually focus on the class. During our concluding resting moments of the class, I was briefly visited by an image of myself tripping in slow motion and had to squelch a bubble of laughter. Then I rolled up my mat and went to CVS.

So, how is this any better than past falls? So, as a 10 year-old, I would have burst into tears and sought the comfort of my mom.  As a 15 year-old I would have basically half died of embarrassment and ran home with my tail between my legs. At 20,  my main focus would have been on assessing the scene of the crime (omg, who just saw that? did any guys see that? I can’t believe I just DID that!)

Yesterday, I let myself be momentarily embarrassed, but re-focused on getting to the yoga class and the other things I wanted to get done that day.

Why? I think part of it’s probably what you’ve guessed this post is about: getting older and getting more comfortable in your own skin. I’m not immune to embarrassment, but I’m generally less concerned with looking stupid in front of other people. More and more, I accept who I am:  someone who falls down in public once in a while.

Which brings up another factor – at nearly 30 years old, I’ve been around long enough to see some people do some really stupid shit, falling down being the least of anyone’s worries.  When you have others’ idiocy as a mark of comparison, your own mess seems less sloppy.

And, lastly, our time is limited and precious, our weekend time even more so. I used to have no qualms with drinking until 3 am and sleeping until 1 in the afternoon on both Saturday and Sunday. Now, I find myself consciously drinking less and  setting an alarm for fear of sleeping away the daylight or spending the whole morning nursing a hangover.

So, with only one Saturday every 7 days, I’m not going to let myself waste too much time focused on what a gigantic moron I probably looked like in front strangers.

And, I’m sure I looked pretty stupid.

Oh well.

-Phoebe

Tags: yoga
Filed under: Turning 30, yoga