I have this baby at home. He’s super cute, as babies tend to be. Fairly uncoordinated, as babies tend to be.
Not surprisingly, falls are a regular occurrence in this house. Maybe there was an unfair wrinkle in the rug, or an unattended Duplo sitting in just the right spot, or an imagined breeze. But whoever it is that’s to blame, the results are the same: you’re walking along, bothering no one – no one! – and all of a sudden you’re on the ground, and you hurt. Much high-decibel sadness immediately follows.
But do you stop walking?
Well, maybe for a few minutes. Hell, your head still hurts. Like, a lot. And who knows exactly WHY this terrible thing happened? It’s scary putting one foot in front of the other when something that seemed so routine ended in tears just a few moments ago.
But no. After a quick comfort snuggle, you get back up and keep toddling across the floor, with renewed zeal fueling your quest to plunge your hands into that ficus planter soil, maybe even tasting its earthy deliciousness one more time before the tall people catch you.
I think I know how he feels.
A year and 24 hours ago, we were bundling up the kids for a crowded T ride into the city, heading for a friend’s apartment on the marathon route to enjoy some fantastic company and a beautiful spring day, and to cheer on a bunch of runners we’d never met. They’d write their names on their jerseys in Sharpie, so we could call them out by name: “Go Sarah/Bill/Melissa! You’re doing great! Wooooooo!” (Our older kid is particularly good at this last part.)
And then a year and 12 hours ago, everything felt, somehow, fundamentally different. The fear of an unknown future following a major terrifying event can seem immobilizing. Even though we knew, deep down, the marathon would continue next year, and the year after that, and the year after that – because you can’t defeat the world’s oldest annual marathon that easily, PLEASE – would we go? As a random spectator, would it feel easier, safer, just to stay home and enjoy the day off from work?
But a lot can happen in a year.
This weekend, our marathon route friend was over for our baby’s first birthday party. She looks at me. So what are you guys doing for the marathon? I pause to think for a moment. Then, with a smile: Nothing…yet. She, also with a smile: Want to come over to our place? We can grill, the kids can hang out…
That sounds awesome. We’re in.
Human beings are pretty f-ing resilient creatures. It’s fundamental to our success as a species. When we stumble, when we feel pain, or fear, obviously we tend to react, at least immediately, with avoidance. Clear evolutionary advantage here: you don’t want the entire family sauntering back out of the cave when just moments ago Grandpa was eaten by the lion that’s still standing outside.
But once you have some time to take stock, reassess the level of risk, make your process a little safer if need be, we tend to get right back to it – whatever “it” might be – even more focused and determined than we were before. We can be capable of some pretty great things, and it’s our stubborn resilience in the face of adversity makes these great things possible.
I mean. It’s not like that ficus soil is going to eat itself.