Eve is walking right now. And that means Eve is falling right now.
She has a big bluish, purplish bruise on the right corner of her forehead. Her bottom would be black if she didn’t wear a diaper.I remember London during this time—always dirty. Always with a bruise on her head.
I honestly can’t believe Eve keeps getting up. I think I’d have thrown in the towel at fall number 4,072. We’re sitting outside right now and she’s fallen three or four times in the last five minutes. But she doesn’t cry. She just gets up.
I look at Eve and I think of me—trying to walk without falling, humiliated when I do. So unlike Eve, confident, messy, walking-better-every-day Eve.
So many of us are trying to live these perfect, clean, orderly lives. We don’t want bruises. We don’t want to mess up. We don’t want grass stains on our jeans.
But to walk, especially to learn to walk, is to fall. I have to be okay with that. I have to realize that falling isn’t always failure. Sometimes it’s evidence I’m trying.