Thank you Brené
How I discover I become resilient with a broken hill in my hand: the best ever sword against shame.
This morning I fell.
Before falling, the hill of my left boot breaks away from the sole. Without asking for permission.
I picked it up and kept it in my hand. The left one, to be precise. And symmetrical.
I’d not have been changing my planes for the day. No way.
While I was climbing the last part of the leading path to my daughter’s school, I fell. I tripped over my daughter’s friend bulky backpack. I fell holding my broken hill in my hand.
A careful grandfather’s hand helped me to rise up asking if I’d hurt myself somehow.
I said no while catching people’s glimpses around us.
I had just fallen: sign of vulnerability
I had just fallen holding a broken boot hill in my hand: sign of ridiculous comicality.
I had just fallen in the midst of an usual school crowed morning: sign of shame.
What did I do?
I burst out laughing wielding my hill.
I rose up again, balanced.
I pulled up my head and kept walking.
And, no, I did not change my planes for the day.
I found a solution: the nearest shoemaker.
First shot: wait until shop opened. Coming in limping. Listening to his explanation: he couldn’t not fix my boot. It was an urgency requiring at least two days of work.
I did not give up.
Second shot: reaching my shoemaker (not the nearest one, obviously).
Arriving there, taking off my left boot. Waiting.
He “poped” it: he fixed it.
And no, I did not change my planes for the day.
I just rose up and took action.
I was not scared to be seen on the ground, naked. Lost in my personal ridicule bubble.
I laughed. No shame. And It might be.
I rose up and hugged myself for the way I faced this unforeseen but vibrant halo of failure.
I felt I was resilient. I knew how to do. Always holding my broken hill in my left hand.
