As a kid, my folks often referred to me as Calamity Jane and regularly threatened to buy me a crash helmet.
Between countless trips to the emergency room, missing front teeth for the better portion of my wonder years, multiple head injuries, constant torture from my older brother and an unswerving will to win his approval at all costs, it’s amazing that I never broke a bone and caused any permanent damage … Or did I?
A friend, of the male and somewhat “enchanted” persuasion, once told me that my life was a dizzying spectacle to watch, always just seconds away from imminent disaster. (He was watching me cook.)
Between two gas burners, a raging oven and lordknowswhat happening in the sink, I was undoubtedly trying to dice or chop some vegetable to add to the mix at just the right time for just the right flavor—only I’d probably remembered about ten minutes late.
Half-listening to him and concentrating on not-cutting myself, I chuckled. Then I had to stop and really laugh. That observation was absolutely on point. It’s not one that I had could ever make.
Who can say what it looks like from outside the eye of a storm? I’m always in it—moving at breakneck speeds, juggling four knives and attempting to jump through fiery hoops. And why? Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? Isn’t this how everyone moves through the world? Why wouldn’t they?
There’s way too much to be done. No guarantee of how much time we’ll get to do it. So many amazing things to see. Zero assurance of getting to it all. Infinite problems to solve—make that, challenges to face. Millions of waves to surf. Billions of people to meet. Countless questions to answer. Unlimited love to give—and receive. Hundreds of basic skills to master. Plus, I need to learn tai chi.
