I’ve had a couple of close calls cycling in traffic over the past couple of weeks, and last Saturday, I didn’t. I guess you could say I had a call. At the risk of sounding dramatic, it was a little like Bob Dylan’s “knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door,” the song I heard shortly after.
I got hit by a car. I’m bruised but have no broken bones, and I’m deeply thankful I didn’t rebreak my arm. As it happened, time seemed to slow down as I was traveling up the hood of the car; the painful parallel and poetry—and the ultimate question: Is this it?—were not lost on me. What was lost was the time between the hood and the pavement; the next thing I remember is getting my legs back under me.
Not a single person helped me get up. They appeared stunned and scared. I don’t think they were motionless because they didn’t care. Sometimes, we don’t know what to do or how to help, so we freeze. To reach out is to take a risk. Sometimes, staying still and being patient are the right choices.
And other times, the opposite might be true, and we need to act.
After I broke my arm over three months ago, I ordered an elbow guard with technology designed to harden and protect on impact, which I was wearing on Saturday.
Generally, in other “collisions” (differences of opinion), when we defend and protect ourselves or our cause, our default might be to become hardened, but sometimes healing happens through a soft touch.
That doesn’t mean capitulation, but can we recognize our shared humanity, even in our righteous, table-flipping anger?
A while back, when I talked to my orthopedist about my broken elbow, I asked him when the “spackle” would fill in around my broken bone.
In these fractured times, I hope we remember that our soft touch can act like spackle, able to seep in and repair broken spots in ourselves and others we risk reaching.
(click to enlarge print.)
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