Bruised, But Wiser

If we’re not bumping into things, we’re probably standing still.

Lately I bruise like a peach—and not the sturdy farmers’ market kind, but the sad grocery-store ones that explode when you lift them. Last week I walked into a tree branch, and yesterday I dropped a fifty-pound wood table onto my toe, causing what is affectionately known as a “subungual hematoma.” This was not in the brochure about aging.

Kids are a tripping hazard. So are dog leashes, stairs and anything on a pickleball court. My wife Trish got bruised at Pilates. Pilates! Who comes home from a workout looking like they lost a bar fight?

Aging means bruises show up when you least expect them, and not just the physical kind. We can’t get older without getting bruised by our jobs or our friends or our families. And nothing seems to bruise as easily as our self-esteem.

The only answer is to laugh. Bruises heal, eventually. Getting angry just makes it worse. This isn’t just self-care advice. It’s teaching our kids that stumbling through life isn’t a tragedy, but a dramedy. It’s important that our children see our stumbles, as well as their own, not as something to hide or cry about, but as something they can trip over — literally — with dignity.

How our children react to life’s curveballs is a learned behavior. They watch, imitate, and mimic how we show anger, the ways we demonstrate love, and how we heal after we bruise.

I wish I were better coordinated. And I wish I had thicker skin. But my bruises are proof I’m still moving fast enough to bump into things, make mistakes, and get back up.