If there is a broken bit of sidewalk, or a hole in a lawn, or a doorknob that sticks out just a bit too far, or a nail that someone didn’t hammer down, or something teetering, just about to fall off a shelf…
… it will find me.
Most of my life, I’ve been the person people tell stories about at parties:
“My friend ran into a sign when she was riding an ice block down a hill and bashed off her toenails!”
“My friend tripped over a chair and broke all her fingers in one hand!”
“My friend was floating on a surfboard, and someone jumped on it, and it broke three ribs!”
“My friend had a full urn of coffee fly into her face at Starbucks!”
“My friend was walking through a dark forest and bumped into a deer, who kicked her in the shin so hard she has a scar!”
And it’s not that I really mind; our scars make us more interesting, everyone enjoys a good cringe story, and rarely does anyone point out that my pinky finger looks like a piece of driftwood.
But the fine art of being a dramatic klutz has begun to pale in comparison to, say, walking in heels without looking like a clown on stilts, or say, revealing my legs in a dress without looking like I’ve been caned.
I can do my hair up, put on my makeup, find a nice outfit to wear, and yet somehow, my ability to move gracefully through the world never quite kicks in to match the effort.
It’s not like I have some sort of biological or medical reason to be this way — sure, there’s been an inner ear thing now and then, when I have a cold or get dehydrated, but that’s only ever the icing on the pain cake. And sure, I’m not exactly a tiny flower faerie, mincing through petals on the breath of a butterfly.
But the sheer breadth of accidents — the ability to find the sharp rock, or locate the wasp’s nest, or tangle the sailboat rigging in my hair, or give myself a black eye with a blow dryer — points either to Nature’s desire to take me the hell out, or some sort of unique sixth sense about where to seek out bruises.
So is it possible to STOP being a klutz, when you’ve been a klutz all your life?
CAN you be more graceful?
And if so, could I stop wearing elbow pads and a helmet to take a shower?
I can relate to a certain degree. I would not say that I’m a klutz, I don’t trip over my own feet and fall on my face. But I do bash my knuckles on the door frame as I walk from room to room, or walk shoulder first into the wall as I turn a corner, or find random cuts and scrapes that I can’t immediately explain. My best friend used to call me the walking wound because I always had some cut, scrape or bruise growing up. Back then it wasn’t so much because I was walking into things but rather I just liked to play hard. I still do, but now its mostly to support my eating habit. Embrace your inner klutz, its part of who you are! I’ve accepted the fact that I will always have to repaint the doors, door frames, and wall corners at least once a year because I’m always bashing into them, scraping the paint off!