It Begins...

I fell down twice walking to work yesterday.  Not once, but twice.  I suppose it was actually one and a half, but it's more important to note how this foreshadows the commencement of winter.  Given that a single snowflake has yet to fall, it's going to be a harbinger of a winter.

I managed to take four terrific little spills last year.  2011 is off to a running start with one and a half under my belt, as a prelude.  I place blame entirely on my shoes.  The heels were worn, which created a slip and slide action when I stepped down on them, causing me to propel forward in an unprecedented manner.  Unprecedented and undesirable, as most travesties go.  If I really wanted to skid down the road, I would've done like contemporary adolescents do and bought Sketchers with wheels on them.

A word to the wise: slippery shoes are no good when you're late and rushing to work while wearing a skirt.  They started to give me trouble as I marched down 1st Ave in a huff, but I managed to catch myself just short of falling.  It'd been my third attempt to stay upright as I approached St. Marks.  Prolonging the inevitable remained no more.   My right heel slid forward as my left knee buckled and hit the rough pavement. I basically did the splits in the street. Took a knee on the sidewalk.  This created a nice little tear in my pantyhose and skin.  Blood was shed, folks.  You can't imagine my displeasure.

It brought me back to my 'winter self'.  The person I was exactly one year ago when I'd just moved to New York.  The most interesting part about experiencing seasons for the first time is the shedding of skins.  With seasonal change we seem to metamorphoses psychologically, depending on how we emotionally acclimate to extreme temperatures.  I reminisce on my old winter self as bumbling, beaten and with little direction; literally and metaphorically.  I could meditate on the numerous times I ducked around a corner to sadly scrutinize the crummy NYC street map I held between my frozen fingers.  Hence my falling nastily in public an unprecedented four times.  My spirits took quite a ride.  This winter was starting to look similar, but not without a good omen.  Just one day prior to falling on the way to work, while wearing the exact same boots, I basically levitated over a manhole.  Walking along the sidewalk late at night when things begin to get blurry, you naturally pay less attention to the ground.  So it's not too surprising that I stepped directly on a manhole cover to a shop basement, with all my force.  Most of us would do the same and not give it second thought.  But this manhole was different.  It was not secure.

I just remember springing really deeply, a sensation much like when one is trampoline jumping came over me.  I'm pretty sure I went airborne.  Couldn't believe it.  Looking over at my friend in hopes of registering what'd happened, he marveled at the fact that I'd remained above ground.  He thought he'd lost me to the basement for sure.  I suddenly went from dopey klutz to urban Jesus, jumping manholes versus walking on water.  Some of us were just born lucky I guess.  Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.

Yes, it will be a harbinger of a winter indeed.  Because it's last winter's pitfalls that prepared me for the year to come.  With these battle scars I continue to slug my way through the world and I am not alone.  If there's one thing the winter brings, it's a sense of congregation.  A shared sense of hatred or deep seeded resent can be extremely unifying.  It can bring even the most unexpected people together.  Christmas-a-come and we know what's in store:  The pain of leaving the house.  Ice cold temperatures that make it all the harder to get up and go to work.  The process of leaving.  The pain of going into the kind of cold that gets in your bones and cuts through your skin, leaving your hands raw and red.  Being blasted in the face with ice wind until you feel your head might explode.  The wet, slippery streets and falling on your ass.  Yes, it blows.  We can agree on that.  We can also come together and drink heavily in a dark bar to ease our sorrows.  The holiday parties, festive gatherings and comfort food are all gifts offered in attempts to help cope with extreme conditions.  Although somewhat dreadful, the winter is an interesting time, from a social standpoint.  We can get shit housed if we want to.  Our shattered souls need it.  This is understood?

And when the snow melts and the spring flowers begin to bloom, New Yorkers everywhere shed their chapped winter carcasses and rejoice in the delights of a new and less painful season.  It's a phenomenal energy shift.  The energy that emerges from a change to warmer temperatures is unlike anything I've experienced and for this I am truly grateful.  Full seasons allow for a deeper appreciation of pleasant weather, which you are more prone to take advantage of when it's less easy to come by.  Furthermore, shedding seasonal skins does something to you, sort of like leveling out the playing field of your psyche.  Sure my winter psyche may be held together by cobwebs, but on the other side of this my summer psyche is lusty, impertinent and ready to lunge at throats with outstretched hands.  All these dimensions just give us more depth, or so I choose to tell myself.

So as I prepare for another season of slipping on black holes and busting my ass on the concrete, I remind myself that in order to fly, one must fall.  In order to fall, one must let go of fear because being able to fall freely takes courage.  If there's anything this city has taught me, it's the importance of keeping courage.  I commit myself to another season of bravery in the face of potential falls and subzero temperatures.  And though the brave may not live forever, the timid do not live at all.  I choose to live, but this time I'll come equipped with better shoes.