It was the fifth time I have fallen this year, literally, fallen on the ground, fell over, went from upright to right down, hard. With each fall the extra padding on my upper thighs seem to take the brunt of my weight, resulting in bruises that went through a cycle of colour changes, making me think of childhood gobstopper candies that start so vibrant and end a dull shade of grey. Each time I’ve fallen, it was sudden; I didn’t see it coming and went down with a thump. In retrospect looking at each of these falls, it’s a wonder and a relief I didn’t have more severe injuries.
But learning requires a curriculum, and my lessons in chronological order consisted of the following: Fall #1: losing my footing walking down an embankment of old volcanic lava in Hawaii, falling down and then also sliding down some of the lava, resulting in bruises and shredded some skin. Fall #2: dismounting off my bike on the precipice of a steep hill, the transition to being on the bike and getting off the bike was somehow compromised and I tipped right over with the bike landing on top of me. Fall #3: walking a rocky shore line after the tide had receded and slipping on a rock falling straight backwards to the horror of my 10 year old walking companion who I’m sure, like me was relieved my head didn’t encounter another rock on landing. Fall #4: rushing out of the shower to answer the phone and falling on the floor (vinyl over concrete aka hard) in my own bedroom! And, most recently; Fall #5.
I had the morning off work and it was forecast to be a sunny morning, and with the changing leaves at their prime, I figured the fall colours would be glorious to photograph. This was also a chance for a bit of solitude and breathing space after a busy couple of months in which the opportunity for a quiet recharge with the benefits of some exercise outside was eagerly anticipated. But while ambling along, maintaining my stride, camera in hand, I checked my watch. Underfoot, I didn’t see the exposed tree roots, slick from the morning frost and suddenly I’m on the ground, landing on my right thigh, skinning my shin and thumping the padding of my hand on a gnarled root. As I lay on the mass of tree roots feeling the pain radiate from my hand, the only sounds were the soft fluttering of leaves falling onto the forest floor and a female voice saying: “Really? What woman in her 40’s falls like this? All the time? What’s wrong with you?” But there wasn’t anyone hiking that morning, just me and those words were muttered from my mouth to be heard only by my ears.
Unfortunately when you are on your own and hurt, and there is no one to offer sympathy there’s really not much choice other than to pick yourself up, dust off (and in my case also check that my camera was still intact) and keep going. So I did, but I did so with renewed ‘focus’. Focus was the immediate word that came to mind. “Focus Louise, walk intentionally, be deliberate with your footsteps, breathe deep, enjoy the space, focus on doing just one thing at a time”. It’s ironic this word focus came to mind, and became almost a mantra. As a photographer I’m adept at focusing on the shot but over the last number of months not so focused on my day-to-day activities. A multitude of things to do, people to please and self-imposed personal expectations to meet have led to multitasking and insufficient attention in the moment. Reflecting on falls 1 to 5, the same pattern repeats; not concentrating on where I am in that instant, looking ahead, making plans, doing two things at once. Multitasking ultimately results in errors and in my case, falls.
Of course, I should have come to this conclusion after the first fall, or at the very least the second. But it took five, certainly a hard lesson to learn from the perspective of my bruised and battered thighs. But this last fall seemed particularly poignant. Being outside with my camera on a solo hike always gives me great joy, rejuvenation; I see it as soul work. To have fallen on what I regard as ‘sacred time’ was a message about my headspace. Fall #5 was a warning that I was out of focus.