Originally posted on Medium.com.
I grew up, then out. My height preceded my womanly shape, causing me to spend most of my formative years (desperately) trying to control my own gangly limbs.
My mother always chalked it up to my fast-paced nature. I want to execute everything as quickly as possible with time to spare. (I just want to do it all.) Unfortunately, this created a carelessness in the way I moved.
My boyfriend was in a euphoric/slightly manic state after the last Jeter home game at Yankee Stadium. Walking down 3rd avenue, I was slightly distracted by his goofy smiles and emotional ramblings. A car took a turn a bit late and I walked into it.
It wasn’t a big deal as it merely ran over my booted foot. I got body checked, because I walked directly into the SUV. After a moment of shock and a few “I’m fine!”s to calm my hyperactive companion, I couldn’t help but laugh. Truly, it was a supremely embarassing moment. But it was typical.
If I got embarrassed every time I did something clumsy, I’d never have time to enjoy life. I’d be constantly down because of something I can’t quite control. Whacking my arm against a wall or stubbing ALL of my toes at once may hurt and make me look like an idiot, but it’s actually a huge part of me.
I wear my clumsy nature like a badge. My body’s inability to protect me from pain (and often being the cause) toughened me up. I began to laugh at myself instead of slinking into the shadows, praying I’d go unnoticed.
Love comes to me in a similar way. I’ve never been able to pin-point when or how I’d begin to fall, nor with whom. When it does happen, I crash, stumble, fall, and headbutt straight into everything. Figuratively and literally.
The comfort and closeness that comes with love gets rid of my nervous consciousness in time. Next thing I know, I’m getting out of bed only to whack my knees against the table or trip over a misplaced boot.