The universe loves a metaphor.
Sprained ankles, stillness, and sprinting towards what we want.
I fancy myself a person who welcomes stillness. I know its benefits and gifts. I know that I feel centred and calm when I invite it into my regular routine. I know it is from stillness that I am able to see with clarity and feel embodied in the decisions I’m making, which is the place from which I want to make any decision—what’s for lunch and otherwise.
Admittedly, I haven’t been sticking to the routine that I know is best for me lately (something to do with slow mornings and avoiding my inbox until after I’ve checked in and moved my body and prioritized something creative) because I really bit off more than I could chew for February and March, and because it feels like doors are flinging open, and because scarcity feels pending, and Make Hay While The Sun Is Shining, and what have you, etc etc. I’ve been doing that thing that I know you’re not supposed to do: getting back in bed when my alarm goes off (plugged in across the room of course) and answering emails and seeing if the contract was signed and seeing who else is saying hi and seeing if I forgot anything because there is so much to do and so much I could miss Because Of Who I Am As A Person and who was it that I said I was going to message.
This is a big year. A pivotal moment in the plot. A wild, bewildering season of opportunity and amazement. Things are happening that were maybe scribbled in a journal somewhere as a pie in the sky ultimate ultra alternative universe of my life where everything I could ever imagine works out. I’m serious, that’s what it feels like. Someone pinch me. Or, someone trip me down the stairs (that’s what happened.) (I mean no one tripped me, that would be crazy—I tripped myself.)
I had a gloriously embarrassing tumble down the stairs at the skytrain station on Friday on my way back to my parents’ in the suburbs for what was supposed to be my final night in BC. I was carrying a carry-on suitcase and a duffle bag, and opened my phone to see which platform I should be looking for, and slipped, missing two steps, bags flying, and landing at an extremely awkward, unnatural angle on which a foot/ ankle/ shin is not supposed to land. I knew it was bad immediately, crumbled to the floor, said a few profanities, saw every event and responsibility in my calendar flash before my eyes, and sunk down to my elbows.
A good samaritan called 911, and another woman stayed with me while we waited for the paramedics. Sitting on the steps with passersby is one kind of spotlight that I’d prefer never to be in. Getting carried out on a stretcher while the transit worker wheels your bags to the ambulance is another kind of like, could we not? that I’d rather avoid if possible. Alas, there I was. Mom came and met me at St. Paul’s for a cultural experience in downtown hospital emergency rooms that I didn’t have on my bingo card. A few hours, some x-rays and a pair of crutches later, I was on my way home, canceling my flight in the backseat of my mom’s car.
Does everyone hate a lesson? They’re so painful (figuratively and sometimes, like this case, literally). I hate asking for help. I hate being on someone else’s timeline, or feeling like I’m interrupting my parents any time I need something. I hate staying in the house. I hate not knowing when this is going to feel better-ish. I hate being taken care of. I hate the comments people made when I went on a 15 minute “stroll” around the block because it was so beautiful and breezy yesterday I couldn’t not go outside. I hate growth opportunities. EW! What a drag! Like, let me be bad at being taken care of actually, that’s way easier and way more comfortable. Let me run full-tilt towards everything that’s barreling towards me at an unsustainable pace with no consequences actually. Don’t teach me in this small sandbox of life how to adjust, opt out, take care, prioritize healing and health, practice communication and vulnerability in saying I need a hand, yes I would love for you to make me a sandwich, yes you can come visit me, yes it would mean the world for a kind gesture, any time, not just in this moment. No thanks! I’m good!
So anyway, I’m handling this really well over here.
While sitting on the floor waiting for the paramedics arrive, my second thought (after the profanities) was, “Oh, this is really great actually, it’ll force me to sit down and finish that thing I need to write and become ultra productive because I won’t be able to get up and move and distract myself and I’ll just have to make lemonade by getting all my work done in one spot,” and that, dear reader, isn’t It either. When called into stillness—by fall or by crash or by heartache or by indecision or by gut feeling that we need it—the only way to answer is to cease all of it. To sit in the stillness for stillness’ sake, and to let it do its slow, stupid work of healing our little hearts.
And here’s the thing about sprinting towards what we want: it’s not a sustainable pace. It looks cool to go that fast (if you don’t look dorky running—some people do, admit it), we praise the people who can Do It All and seemingly Don’t Get Tired and Keep it All Together and Balance It All So Well. We all know that’s never all there is to it. Somewhere, a plate stops spinning, an egg gets dropped, whatever the other metaphor we want to add into this metaphor soup I have going on at this point for nothing-is-ever-as-it-seems-on-the-surface. Our dreams deserve us to be well-rested, clear headed, embodied, and moving at a pace where we are moving slow enough that we can enjoy the scenery on the way. That is the pace at which dreams thrive.
I feel incredibly lucky to be with my family and to have parents that are really great to be around and who are really leaning into the doting caregiver role (as someone who’s lived alone since I was 19, my 34 year old self is like, oh yeah, this is what it’s like to have someone there when you feel crappy, you don’t have to go to the drug store or even hobble with crutches to make your coffee, this isn’t the worst thing in the world!!) and I will begrudgingly be welcoming the stillness and all its gifts as I slow down even more to listen, to wait it out, and to say yes to the falling.
Upcoming Events
Poetry Club
Tuesday, April 16th at 7pm - 8:30 EST
The internet’s sweetest gathering is happening on the 16th! Bring a poem you’ve written or a poem you love on the theme - chasing our dreams. Paid Substack subscribers automatically receive the Zoom link 24 hrs before the event.
In Good Company - a drop-in writing workshop
Sunday, April 28th at 10am - 11:30 EST
Our next gathering of In Good Company (a monthly writing workshop for paid Substack subscribers) is going to be Sunday, April 28th! The theme will be chasing our dreams.
No need to register - a Zoom link will be sent out to paid Substack subscribers 24 hrs before.
Dinner With Strangers x Chef Jill Hillier
Tuesday, April 30th at 6pm - 10
I’m back at Roof Garden in Toronto, Ontario, but this time for a special collaboration with the incredible Chef Jill Hillier (@faretheewellbychefjill). Tickets are sold out–to stay updated on ticket releases, sign up for my dinner updates list here.
Sending you love Jess. Speedy recovery and take care of your heart ❤️🩹🌹
I hope you heal soon and heal well, Jess. Being immobilized — somewhat or fully — would make me nuts.
Reading you grumbling about having to accept help from others gave me big-time Cranky Elder vibes and I wonder if I see your Clint Eastwood future? 🤣