We Rise, We Fall

Someone wise said, “What defines us is how we rise after falling.” I’ve fallen so often I wouldn’t know where to start nor would I want to bore you with any of my Tales from the Dead and Buried. But does it make me an expert on how to rise with dignity?

I don’t think it does for, you see, my first instinct would be to fly away in a rocket that makes Noah’s Ark seem like a Walmart dinghy. I guess I’ve always had a problem seeing things in perspective. I’m one of those ‘perfectionists,’ you see (a label that makes you sound like a self-important idiot). What it means is, when I’m trying hard to do something right because I’m dedicated and I know deep down inside I’m the right person for the job, but then something goes wrong because of outside influences that I have a hard time dealing with because they are distracting and taking the wind out of my sails (and mind you, I’m co-Captain Blue, so you just don’t do something like that, right?), well, I tend to get so worked up I forget life’s too short to be fighting petty wars I can’t win or should want to win and just not worth all those heap loads of wasted energy and good intentions. I’m being purposely vague but the point I’m trying to make is this: when you’ve fallen, what you need is a bird’s eye view. Take a good look at yourself, at your life, and just know when to say, “This is not worth it.”

Remember that everyone is a person, you included, and that making mistakes is just what it is: making mistakes. Do you want to spend the rest of your life analyzing moments that have not been exactly the pinnacle of your existence?

No. But as is often the case, things are easier said than done, and that voice inside my head is not necessary helping. So here’s what I do after falling. I lay all my cards on the table, tell my friends what happened without trying to get them to side with me against whatever malevolent force caused me to fall this time. I don’t want my friends to tell me it wasn’t my fault simply because they love me. I want them to help me find that bird’s eye perspective, if only for a moment. So what if you bought the wrong house and your neighbors keep humping day and night as if their very lives depended on it and you keep telling them they’re not on Robinson’s island and you need some sleep because you need to go to work all fresh and crispy? So what if you’ve stayed too long in the same job and quitting is a luxury you can’t afford when bills need to get paid and you’re not getting any younger in the process? So what if you don’t recognize the face in the mirror because you’ve been fooling yourself way too long, which somehow led to a state of near-despair for all to see? So what if your health deteriorates faster than superman’s fart can cross the Atlantic and the embodiment of strength and zest for life that used to be you - that demi-god you thought you were, and you’ve got proof, too (show them those pictures!) – really isn’t you?

So what? I keep telling myself I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. And that, in the end, it doesn’t matter all that much in the greater scheme of things unless, of course, you're Napoleon or Pickleope von Liechtenstein. A bird’s eye view, people. Eighty years is all we’ve got. Maybe a couple of years more if we’re lucky, maybe a few less if we’re not, but that’s pretty much it. So on your feet, soldier. On your feet. (Now, who said that?)

How do you rise with dignity after falling really hard?

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