I learned to stand on my own before turning one. Ballet classes as
a toddler taught my young body strength in muscle isolation. One push down a
small slope on a bike was all I needed to understand the phenomenon of balance
in relation to the unusual force of gravity. I scrapped my knees a fair share
of times as a kid, but as time passed, my falls were less and less. Falling is
for underdeveloped brains of disequilibrium children. So why did I misplace my
foot on a relatively cleared path and end up sharing both of my knees and
elbows with the gravel? I trusted my body's understanding of balance to keep me
upright while running. For some reason, I was humbled to ground-level and
made to feel like a child again. I am more often than not incredibly
uncomfortable with childish acts in public, ones that might bring about embarrassment
or unnecessary attention. For the second it took me to fall and the hour it took
for me to finish the trail, I found strength in the obvious streams of blood
coagulating down my shins and elbows as I passed many concerned eyes. Instead of
disguising my mishap, I embraced it.
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