It's really icy here.
You should see me walking around on my driveway, in my yard, in the parking lots of the local buy-a-lot-of-junk stores. I walk with such care and trepidation, you would think there was a huge chasm under my feet.
I guess I'm just afraid to fall.
One day last week, Bard and I were walking to our van, which we've parked at the very end of our long lane for lack of a vehicle that can handle the inclemency that is our country driveway. She and I were both wearing snowboots, treading cautiously with each little step and moving along quite slowly. I always imagine that there's some vicious snow-dusted ice beneath my very next step that will take me down, and fast. I've fallen enough to know that it's just when you get your confidence up, just when you say, "This is SILLY! I'll never get there if I keep on like this!" It's just when you think, "To heck with it," and you take your next step with abandon that the aforementioned lurking ice-enemy knocks you on your can. But it can't just do you the favor of letting you fall. Instead, it has to make you look like an idiot first, jerking, lurching, trying desperately to stay upright before you plummet to the hard, cold, icy ground.
As we were inching our way along, a figure came streaking past us, a blur against the snow-covered valley.
It was my 13-year-old son, Houdin.
I'm always amazed at Houdin's deftness on ice. He seems to have no fear of falling at all. While I can take every step with the utmost care and still land on my butt, Houdin runs and jumps and does cartwheels, yet still lands on his feet.
The thing I noticed as Bard and I inched along was how Houdin approached each icy spot. He didn't stop and proceed with caution. Nay, he didn't even slow down. He kept his pace. And when a sheet of ice took his footing, he just...slid. And slid. And slid. Not like I would slide as a precursor to sudden descent, with my arms flailing desperately in the air and ridiculous words spouting from my mouth. Houdin took more of a ride than a slide, arms out steady at his sides, feet separated, knees bent, almost as if he were skiing. Almost as if her were...enjoying it! And when the riding-sliding ended, he broke into a full-run again in preparation for the next patch of ice.
I wish that I could approach the problems in my life the way my son approaches a slippery slope. When life takes my footing, when I suddenly feel myself sliding and spinning out of control, I want to think of Houdin. Maybe then, I can just spread my arms, bend my knees, and gracefully ride the whole thing out.
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