Falling Down Free

Moments after the fall

I was walking out of the forest at Little Cove up near Tobermory.  My kids out in front and my husband in front of me all chattering away as we carefully navigated the mossy rocks and tree roots along the path to the road.  I kept saying “watch your step” and “be careful” and “look where you are walking” to the kids out ahead who were traipsing along not listening to me even a little bit when WHAMMO! I fell straight down.  My ankle swivelled ever so slightly and in an attempt to avoid a full on sprain or break I fell straight to the ground like a tree trunk breaking my fall with my hands and then realizing as I was horizontal what had just happened.  I quickly got to my feet while my husband, horrified, kept repeating “Oh my god, are you ok?” to which I responded “Surprisingly I’m totally fine!” - it was a miracle that the forest floor was soft and I was fully able to walk out to the road and the 1km uphill to our car. 

This isn’t the point of the story though.  Falling down as an adult, while potentially dangerous, happens sometimes.  It was in the hours that followed that I realized I was giggling every time I remembered the fall.  Walking along one second and flat on my face the next...giggle. Trees everywhere parallel to my body and then blammo, perpendicular...giggle.  Watching my feet and carefully placing them for safety and then, unhinged smooshed on the forest floor...giggle.  

It’s important for me to mention at this point that I don’t giggle as a rule.  It’s just not a function that I have been accessing in the last oh I don’t know, my entire adult life.  I’m giggling now just writing about it. But falling down isn’t funny. Not even a little bit so why the bubbling giggles I asked myself?  Then it dawned on me: letting go.  

For the first time in as far back as I can recall I was just letting go, completely at the mercy of gravity and the release of my body holding it all together.  The lack of control, the freedom of the fall, the relinquishing of power over myself or anything around me was a stark contrast to my every moment these days. I realized I’ve been holding everything together so hard.  I’ve been controlling my body, my face, my tears, my thoughts all in an effort to KEEP GOING and the fall gave me a small taste of being free from the trying so hard for a split second. Free to just fall down. It’s not lost on me that I am now “falling down is teaching me a life lesson” years old.  How lame is it to be seeking wisdom from falling down? But I’m quickly learning that I don’t get to choose where the lessons are these days, they just are where they are.  

I had another taste of this free fall feeling on a roller coaster the other day.  That bending, twisting, screaming moment that the ride builds up to where you just have to submit to the power of the ride gave me that same freedom.  That cracked open joy of controlling nothing and being at the mercy of the moment. Is this why people go skydiving I ask myself???  

I can see the allure of chasing this freedom feeling when, if like me, you are wound up in the tasks and minutiae of daily life in a family where both parents work full time.  When you are grieving and trying to schedule times that are appropriate for crying so it doesn’t take over your whole day. When you are constantly trying to find your inner Buddha when interacting with your button pushing children.  When you are trying desperately to keep yourself together with string and tape and red lipstick and hot coffee.  

The “big fall” takeaway for me has been to find a way to let go more often.  To let myself be free which means finding time by myself in case the letting go leads to crying or yelling which is a risk right now.  To make time to be ok with what is happening in the moment instead of manipulating my feelings and actions to be socially acceptable because that fall was pure bliss, pure freedom, pure cracked open gravity and I may have to find some time for roller coasters too...