Note to Myself No. 13

Once, a few years ago,

I attended a writing conference

on the campus of Brown University. 

The summer session was taking place,

so there were lots of students around

(some of whom thanked us for coming, 

because the food in the cafeteria improved

when there were conferences on campus).

One day, as I was walking between workshops,

I paused to watch a young man

who was practicing his skills as a tightrope walked.

He had a rope tautly stretch between two large trees,

perhaps two to three feet off the ground.

Enough height to practice,

but not enough to break bones 

if balance didn't outwit gravity.

He moved slowly, with determination,

a look of concentration on his face.

One foot. . .

then gingerly, the next foot.

Sometimes his arms shot out to steady him.

And sometimes,

his arms weren't enough

and he'd fall (or self-propel)

from the tightrope.

He'd shake off the mishap

and mount the rope again,

always looking to gain mastery.

Life's kind of like that.

One foot in front of the other, 

progressing down the path

and trying to keep our balance steady.

Not always succeeding.

But picking ourselves up

after a fall,

and starting anew.

And learning to notice

when others are flailing

and extending a helping hand

when our feet are on steady ground.