Case in point: tonight, walking into my yoga class (late, as, unfortunately, usual), I swung the door open with the energy of hurry–right into the third toe on my left foot. I kneeled on the floor for a little, biting my lip and whimpering (if I had been taught to curse earlier in life, I would have done that), and watching a blood blister form, and wondering whether it was broken (the toe).
Then I went into class. Then I limped to a cafe to meet a new friend, and got ice from the very nice barista, and by the time I left the toe was less purple than it had been, and I was limping less, and when I got home my roommate gave me neosporin and a clear band-aid she bought in India on an internship last summer, and now I am feeling hopeful again that I may not have to cancel the hike I planned with another new friend for Saturday, after all.