I’m excited to invite A.R. Rivera, author of Between Octobers, to my blog today discussing “The Art of Falling” – I think I have found my soul sister of klutziness🙂 Without further ado:
I don’t think of myself as a clumsy person. But I must admit that I seem to possess a real knack for executing spectacular falls.
The biggest, most embarrassing ones come along when I’m mingling among large groups of people, feeling confident—yeah! I’m getting published. My book is so good. I’m so happy! My life is awesome!
(Yes, these are my actual thoughts.)
The most recent spill was at the husband’s company picnic. He works with a really great group of people. They are all smart and funny, and generally great to be around. Lots of them are bibliophiles, like myself, so it’s natural to discuss my writing among them.
(CUE SHAMELESS PLUG: Between Octobers, out now, on Amazon!)
So, here’s the short of it: I tripped over an extension cord.
The long: My hands were full, so what should have been a quiet, harmless little spill, was not.
We were one of the last groups to file into the covered picnic area at a lovely city park. Most of the tables were already taken.
(Makes sense, I suppose. If I’m going to make a spectacle of myself, may as well maximize the audience.)
My duck feet didn’t get enough air to make it over an orange extension cord that was being used to power the cotton candy machine. To make it worse, I saw the cord. I made sure to step over it on my way to the line of ice chests to get drinks for me and the kids. On the way back, my foot caught on the extension cord. But I had too much momentum to simply fall. No, I had to try and walk out of it. I took three or four gaping steps, leaning forward, gaining speed as I went.
The whole thing played out in slow-motion: I was in the middle of a long, open area, heading to a table where my husband was waiting. Center-stage. My hands flew out in front of me. The bottles of water and cans of soda pop sailed onto the concrete. Right about the moment that everyone heard the drinks clatter to the ground, I went into a nose-dive. I watched my purse careen across the smooth concrete and I was glad that it didn’t spill. God only knows how many personal items could have flown out, doubling my embarrassment.
Most of the people that had been facing their plates of food were now staring at me. Watching with concerned eyes and full mouths. Some gaping.
As the heels of my palms came to a skidding stop, I heard my husbands worried voice. Someone else was suddenly beside me, asking if I was okay. My kids were standing behind me, holding their plates with shocked expressions.
I checked my stinging palms, barely any scrapes, and dusted them on my pants as I got back onto my traitorous feet.
“I’m fine!” I yelled to the watching faces. “Just bruised my pride.” I wanted to laugh. But I didn’t.
As if on cue, I felt the sudden heat rush into my cheeks, then my forehead, and ears. I was a decent shade of red in about three seconds.
Someone I recognized, a very sweet older woman, handed me my purse while another boy—the son of a co-worker—handed me all the sodas and waters that I tossed.
By that time, my safety-conscious husband had already surveyed the area and pointed out that the fault lay on whoever had stretched an extension cord over a walkway. I knew he was right, and he was trying to make me feel better about my brutal clumsiness. We spent the rest of the afternoon joking about it. Yeah, it hurt a little, but it was funny.
Looking back, I think I needed that moment. Maybe I needed to be reminded that my simple journey from one place to another may not go as planned. And that’s okay. Because I can always dust myself off, find the thing that tripped me up, and try to learn from it.
Take Two Publishing is giving away an e-copy of Between Octobers! Enter now at www.taketwopublishing.com/blog-2
Keep in touch with A.R. Rivera
Get Between Octobers now on Amazon!
About the Author:
A.R. Rivera was born in Portland, Oregon. The absolute, unyielding love she received from her parents gave her a light-hearted attitude that doesn’t let her take take life too seriously and gives her the confidence to believe she can move any mountain in her way.
Some years ago, she read a little book by a lady with the surname of Meyer. Then she read the next three. In the process, she fell back in love with reading and it sparked a passion in her she never knew she had.
Today, she spends every minute she can with her sons and husband, sharing an abiding faith and love with them as she nurtures her soul with writing.