As I Was Saying
Downfalls of the Dumb and Reckless
By Alan Williamson
According to reliable sources, when Humpty Dumpty had a big fall it left a kingdom shell shocked for months. Richard Nixon fell mightily, too, as those who figuratively “fall” from power do. Just ask Jim and Tammy Bakker. They had a fall from grace and power, an impressive feat for two otherwise underwhelming famous fallers.
More recently, disgraced golfing great Tiger Woods kept finding new rock bottoms to hit on his epic fall as the story unfolded that he was cheating on his wife with not one, not two, but multiple mistresses over the course of several years. Mel Brooks once said that “tragedy is when I get a paper cut; comedy is when you slip on a patch of ice and fall down an embankment.” Narcissism aside, Mr. Brooks is a wise observer of life’s peaks and valleys.
These reflections on falling in all its humbling, tragicomic spectacle came the day after a good old-fashioned face-first fall while running on a paved pedestrian path at the park. Like so many big falls involving humans, it happened with uncanny coincidence right after I nonchalantly overruled the voices of reason and common sense in favor of my own visionary powers as master of my universe.
Sure, I saw that my left shoelace had come untied, posing an element of danger that could theoretically result in sudden failure to maintain a buffer between my head and the ground. But as long as I’m aware of it, I rationalized, I’m still in control of the situation. Besides, I was almost done with my run and it would be a shame to stop short just to tie a stupid shoelace.
My ingenious plan seemed to be working flawlessly as I neutralized the loose lace through Zen-like mental awareness and the grace and purity of my running stride. And then it happened. I fell hard and without warning – unless you count my lip getting pinned between the asphalt and my front teeth a warning. In the millisecond it took to pound the pavement with every part of my body except my feet, I knew I was about to become the “after” in a sobering before and after gallery of shoelace-related accident victims.
As I spooned myself free from my pancake-like embrace with the pedestrian path, a voice rang out.
“Are you alright?”
Looking up, I saw a parking lot security guard on patrol in his golf cart who was surveying the carnage of another senseless act of shoelace bloodshed. Perfect, I thought. Because falling down on a sunny afternoon on smooth ground with no obstructions in sight just isn’t as special if there isn’t someone there to see it.
“I think I’m okay,” I answered tentatively, checking to see if my teeth were where I usually keep them.
“You went down like you were shot,” the roving security guard noted, barely able to conceal his gratitude for my providing him with a “happening” to share with his wife over dinner.
“Just a nasty spill,” I assured him. “The only thing injured is my pride.”
“Your pride looks like it’s bleeding,” he observed. “You want me to call for help?”
“No, that’s not necessary,” I asserted, pronouncing myself well enough to limp back to my car.
As I gradually began to take stock of my God-given goodies, I saw that I had the kind of damage that – had I been a car – I could have driven away from the accident scene. I just needed to drive slowly and find a body shop that could put skin-colored paint where mine had come off.
Having instinctively thrown my hands out between my face and the rapidly approaching asphalt, I now had several less layers of skin on various parts of my hands and knee. What you quickly discover is that the loss of several layers of skin has a tendency to make you ooze blood. This tends to make you philosophically divide your life into two distinct periods. There’s the good old days when you had an ample supply of skin, and the living hell that is your life now as a big blood-oozing clod.
In the end, I was lucky. My teeth were intact behind a fat lip and my wounds began to scab and heal in the passing days. But having fallen hard in the literal sense, I’ve gained wisdom that can benefit even those who have fallen figuratively from their perches of power and grace. To put it succinctly: In the journey of life, those who stay humble seldom stumble. And it’s good to keep your stupid shoelaces tied.
Alan Williamson is an award-winning writer with 27 years in the field of true fiction (advertising). A practical man who knows that writing for a living is risky going, he has taken steps to pursue a second, more stable career as a leggy super model. Alan can be reached at alwilly@bellsouth.net.