Friday, September 13, 2013


I was walking toward the kitchen table, eager to be near my supper. A shopping bag from Marshall's was on the floor, a new tupperware purchase peaking out. Freakishly, one foot became entangled in the bag's handle, and as I stepped forward, the bag swung around, the tupperware lightly tapping the ankle of my other foot. 

Pain exploded. It was soon dulled by an oddly throbbing numbness. I hobbled to the table, dragging my now useless appendage; I collapsed into a chair, gasping in agony and disbelief. Holy mackerel, how could a gentle nudge from a tupperware do that? It took five full minutes to regain feeling in my foot. 

It made me think about how the tiniest amount of energy, if deftly applied, can have a gargatuan result. Like the Butterfly Effect. 
I thought then of how, comparably, the smallest word can make a difference. What are words, anyway? Air, vaporizing in the mist, wafting away without any sort of physical manifestation. Yet they can save. They can savage. 

We put no value on our own words, so why would anyone else take them seriously? But people do. Many hold words in high regard.  

I try to think before I talk. I do. But many times, too many times, I step into it. I thought I had cleared my words for takeoff, going over the safety checklist numerous times, but I fear that I have still said something unintentionally hurtful. There are moments when being a well-dressed hermit seems like a great new career path. 

If the spoken word, intangible as it is, can have such impact, how much more so the written word? Caution is vital when typing online, like the casually posted comment on a Facebook status, or even anonymously on a blog. There are ramifications even to a nameless, faceless, remark.

The smallest statement ("How lovely you look!") can be like yeast, making someone's day rise higher and higher, or can be a house dropped on a Bosch. Even if the remark was "well-meant," or "came from a place of honesty," don't volunteer to say a painful word.

I do believe that when someone eviscerates me verbally, it could not have been uttered unless I was meant to feel that pain, as every stubbed toe comes from the Eibishter. But that person did not have to volunteer for the job, and no one wants to be that volunteer. I want to be yeast. 

Women have the mitzvah of challah. Think of yourself as a chic baker, in more ways than one.


Anonymous said...

I don't understand the premise of that video. Daisy's leg was crushed because she crossed the street without looking and the taxi driver was distracted. It did not have to do with that particular taxi or that particular driver or that particular woman. If she wouldn't have waited for the friend with the broken shoelace, then she would have left a minute earlier and a different car would have been there, and assuming that car's driver was also distracted, she would have been run over just the same.

Princess Lea said...

Sigh. Merely a flawed example of chaos theory. I concur, Daisy was being reckless by prancing in the middle of the road, but I thought the scene was visually appealing.