Moment

Have you ever had a moment that changed the trajectory of everything?

These defining moments tend to stick in Kodachrome.

I just had one.

One minute, I was walking a block from a hotel to my rental car in Queens—it was 4:15 am, pitch dark. I was thinking that it’s probably not smart to be walking around by myself at that time of night in a city. And suddenly, the next moment, I tripped over the uneven sidewalk, pitching forward. 

My face skidded down the sidewalk.

I was wearing a heavy backpack and had a roller bag in my right hand. There was nothing to stop me from falling—except a futile effort by my left knee and palms. The weight of the backpack plowed me right over.

Then, I was bleeding from the nose and forehead, driving blindly in and out of construction around LaGuardia, trying to find the rental center. 
And when I found it, the Budget shuttle was blocking the entrance. 

It was closed.

So, I was then googling “LGA Budget after hours return” and bleeding some more, dabbing at my face with my sleeve, hoping I didn’t need stitches as I tried to figure out what to do.

I thought, Wow, my client I am seeing today is going to wonder who beat me up.

My next thought: I need to take a shitload of things from my backpack and lighten up my load.

And perhaps Birks are not the best shoes, even though it’s summer and hot in the city.

The few days that followed were interesting. I had meetings with clients—who were delightfully gracious and caring. After about 12 hours, floaters showed up in my right eye. I then spent hours at an eye doctor in that strange city because I was afraid to get on the plane home. My clients were so sweet, especially when I had to wear sunglasses because of dilated eyes. 

I finally got the go-ahead to fly home, and when I arrived around 11 pm the following night, I let it all out. For two solid days, I slept. I cried. I sat around dazed. It was recovering from a simple trauma. And it took me a while.

I was afraid to watch any screens, but I watched stupid TV anyway. I thought about my dad who had a head injury himself after falling on ice and ended up with a subdural hematoma and in a wheelchair.

My partner said, It's no wonder you are feeling like that. You met your vulnerability.

I would shiver when I remembered what it felt like to have my forehead skidding down the sidewalk until I came to a stop.

But after I let myself process a bit, I started feeling more grateful. I said, "Thanks for taking care of me, body! No broken bones. No concussion. No brain bleed." As the scrapes started feeling less raw, I said, “My body is already starting to heal itself!”

I thought about what a great metaphor this moment was. It was as if the universe was trying to literally knock some sense into me. 

Thank you, body that was rushing healing blood cells to my bruises and cuts. 

On Sunday evening, I finally started feeling like myself again...almost four days later. I was no longer feeling as beat up. No longer feeling like someone who had an accident. 

Hello, Kellie! Once again, I started to feel like me. 

I had been meeting with some coach friends by Zoom a week or two before the accident, and we had talked about defining moments. I had written on a Post-It that I then slapped on the wall: Defining moments don't always define you. They define the path forward.

So, what has been defined for me? I am not invincible. I have choices. I don't have to be Herculean in my work. I'm just as vulnerable as the next gal.

I still have the floaters in my eye—they will take weeks, or even months to go away. Daily, I get this blurry message from the universe: You are not seeing clearly yet.

What am I not seeing clearly? 

That is still to be explored.

I heard Byron Katie, world-renowned writer and spiritual teacher, fell once and smashed her face on the floor. But she is such a gracious student of what is that she thought, "I’m glad I fell and smashed my face. There’s something about this, appreciating life and all that is blissful."

I’m not there yet. I’m still working on the bliss. 

But in my scars, there's a gift in here somewhere.