Don’t you hate it when you’re in class, at a restaurant, or even on the bus and you manage to trip over someones foot? I mean, what’s more mortifying than practically falling in front of people rather than you know them or not?

Actually falling.

I remember one day after school in sixth grade I was walking out to my mom’s car. I wanted to go home and rest because it had been a long day with running for about a half an hour during PE (and at that time, for a young fragile body, that was a very long distance to be continually moving doing the same thing). A mother and her child were walking incredibly slow in front of me, but I was rushing to get out because we all know an extra moment on school campus is an extra moment of being depressed. They continued to walk slowly, so I made a quick decision to step off of the sidewalk and onto the grass which, little did I then now, would be a huge mistake.

Oh, I did get around them, but not before I fell while walking beside them and almost being ahead, big violin case in hand. I went down, and it was not pretty, nor did it feel very pretty. Grass stains covered my jeans. My cheeks got red when they asked if I was okay.

My knees stung as I walked what seemed like a mile to my mother’s car. All I could think was that none of it would have happened if my impatient nature hadn’t gotten in the way. There’s no one else I could really blame.