Last week I came off my bike. It was spectacular to observe, I’m told by the kind strangers who lifted me off the road. But completely freakish in outcome. For, despite propelling several metres, my front wheel coming off and my face sliding along the asphalt, I wound up with just a popped couple of ribs, some gashes and fancy bruising.
Here’s some extra freakishness: I face planted and face-slid in slow motion, and remember clearly thinking “Bugger, this is not going to be pretty”. But got up and had barely a scratch to my face. Seriously. My sunglasses had taken the full brunt of my fall. They’re shredded; my face is merely bruised!
I find all of this a beautiful thing. This is why…
I’d been starting to work myself up into a frenzy over my competing deadlines on my next book. I was too close to it. I was losing