When you fall
As I lay on the asphalt, the lady reached out: “Monsieur. Monsieur. Are you okay? Dizzy or something?”
“I’m fine. Thank you,” I replied as I was pulling my leg from under the motorbike, trying to stand up. “Is this oil from your engine, or was it already there?” she asked. I wasn’t sure. I think I lost balance as my bike got to a standstill on top of the hill at the intersection, or I might have slid on the motor oil already there. I went from a 12-noon position to a sudden left shoulder on the asphalt marking 9 am. On the dot! In a split of a second. I remembered what my trainer told me to do in such situations. If it is happening, leave your machine. Let your bike slide on its side to where it wants to. And so I did. My safety gear did a splendid job. They took a slight bump. I was okay.
I negotiated to lift the bike and picked up my orange turn light signal covers. Put them back on. I thanked the lady many times, and she eventually took off in her dark SUV. I couldn’t tell the color since it was already getting dark.
I then realized that my left footrest had gone missing. I found it broken nearby. I put it in my daypack just in case. Got back on. Started up my 1998 Kawasaki Estrella and took off changing gears for the next 10 minutes until I got home.
As for the rest of my trip, I enjoyed it so much with slightly cooler air and quieter streets as if nothing had happened. Falling together often create bonding.
The courage to fall
My little skid got me started writing about falling and failing, the difference, and everything around both. So what follows is a mezze of my thoughts. Main dishes will be served in different posts.
If you don’t play, you’ll most probably never fall. But, sometimes, if you don’t play the game of life, things fall on you anyway. Might as well play. Falling is part of living. If we choose to live abundantly, falling is expected. When we look at it this way, falling experiences become lessons to learn from and grow.
Falls come in many shapes, sizes, weights, depths, colors, and smells. As children, we learn about them. As adults, we continue to relearn living with them. Falls find us on the playground, on stage, and on the battlefield. We experience them in the office, on the factory floor, in the boardroom, the bedroom, and on a football field. They’re everywhere. We avoid them to save ourselves inconveniences, pain, and other repercussions.
But,
What if we learned how to fall just like beginner judo players are taught to? What if we learned about others’ falls and failures like business students analyze case studies? If we’re better fallers, does it make us better players? Or players in the first place? Less fearful of falling with a bigger appetite for play? Maybe learning how to fall make us life-wonderers, not life-watchers.
A lot has been written about the fear of failure. This is different. This is about building up the courage to fall.
How do you get into a game?
When there’s a game or hear of one, am I a self-starter and pick solo games? Or a self-starter who brings teams together? Am I a first-jumper into a game, or do I wait until the game is already being played to join? Some of us go head-first. Others, toes first ever so slowly dipping in the ankles, knees, waist, to reach the head. Some never get their heads wet.
When you’re in the middle of the game, how do you fall?
The faller archetype
I figured that maybe there are types of fallers. So here are five archetypes for you to ponder.
The Moi? of-course-not — You’ll never admit that it was a fall. Sometimes, not even to yourself. To cover it, you fake another move altogether and pretend that you had planned it as such all along. Think Inspector Clouseau in the Pink Panther.
The Bouncer — You bounce right back. You think later. Maybe you think later. If you did, then you’d ask: why did I fall? How did it happen? What lessons can I learn from this?
The Stuntman — You go and look for falls and try them out. You practice a lot. You perfect them until they become second nature. Falling is your business. You love the thrill and the adrenaline of the potential fall. You’re probably afraid of falling; yet, you have enough courage to face it. Every time.
The Roller — You’re very aware of what has happened. You roll with it until the momentum dies out. Then you’re back on your feet. Rolling minimizes impact and absorbs the hardest hits. You’re patient and wise.
Flat-on-Face — What just happened? You freeze, waiting for someone to come and pick you up, tend to your booboos, and stroke your ego.
I don’t think we’re just one archetype. I think we take different ones in different situations. Or do we?
What type of faller was I on my motorbike?
How do you recover?
After a fall, some ask for help. Others forget it and go on with their lives. Depending on the severity, it might die out with time, or it can come and bite you years later. Some cry it out in the shower, wash it off, and dry it.
The courage to fall takes understanding how and when we decide to play, what type of faller we are, and how we recover from it. More to come.
But first,
Looking for the lady
I still did not find the woman with the tattoo. Maybe this time, I’ll be able to find the lady who stopped to care for a stranger early evening on that Saturday in Rabieh. To the petite lady who offered to lift the heavy bike with me: “A cup of coffee, Madame?”