“I told you not to do that.”
No, it’s not your parent, your spouse or your boss.
It’s you. Talking to yourself.
Do you always listen?
Mind Your Body has been MIA because I didn’t listen to myself, as the pink sparkly cast on my left hand reminds me. So does the fact that I am using my right hand in ways I never did before.
Do it intuit
I’ve written previously about intuition—when you have such a premonition of dread that you’re certain your feelings are valid. Maybe you heed them and stop what you formerly intended to do, never knowing if what you “thought” would happen would actually have happened. And if that did, would you be alive to know it?
My sense of what might be is fairly keen, as is yours. Our intuition develops from past experiences and the knowledge we accrue just by living. As boomer gals, we’ve done a lot of living and by now, we trust ourselves.
The fast lane
I’ve been biking several days a week now on the trails and streets around me in The OC. They are superb. To exit my ‘hood, and reach the Aliso Creek Trail, it’s necessary to cross the highway and follow traffic across two intersections.
An alternative (and a bad one) is to take a left and ride on the narrow sidewalk, brick wall beside it, against traffic: risky and against the law.
It was Wednesday, hot, rush hour, I was in a hurry to do my workout and I contemplated cheating by using the sidewalk. I’d done it once and remembered thinking, “Gee. The handle bar could tap the wall and down I’d go in the oncoming traffic lane.”
Déjà vu true
And that’s exactly what happened, just as I had scripted it. My hand broke my fall and my fall broke my wrist. I landed next to that darned sidewalk. The oncoming traffic kept on coming.
Sitting at the orthopedist’s office, I asked how busy the typically slow post-Labor Day week had been for the doctors. “People are still out hurting themselves,” said the nurse. “That’s why they call them accidents. Oh, and your age had nothing to do with that. It could have happened to anyone.”
Whew. I feel so much better now—but not my wrist.
(Photo courtesy: © Ragne Kabanova | Dreamstime.com)