Remember the time I humiliated myself at the casino?

This weekend I faced my biggest fear since starting my blog. It’s the sole obstacle that kept me from blogging sooner.

What if I can’t think of anything to write?

Writer’s block. When it happens, I don’t try to strong-arm myself past it; I just let it go, confident that an idea will come to me when the timing and mood is right. But when I still didn’t have an idea a few hours before my self-imposed deadline for this week’s blog, I started getting nervous.

Then for some strange reason, I remembered a really embarrassing story about something that happened to me all the way back in high school. It’s a story I hadn’t thought about in decades.

That’s when I asked myself, “Am I so bothered by the thought of not publishing a blog each week that I’d rather tell an awkward story about myself than not post anything at all?” You betcha!

Have a nice trip…

I don’t remember what year it was in high school when one of my teachers decided to take our class to a casino-hotel in Atlantic City for a career day field trip. We went to learn about the hospitality industry and the kinds of job opportunities that were available.

This was back in the day when there was a dress code for being in the casino-hotels. People got spiffed up to go out, and since this was a career day trip, I dressed for the occasion. I wore a suit that was first worn by my big sister.

I’ve always idolized my sister. I tell everyone she is the smarter, prettier, and nicer one. As a kid, I loved wearing her hand-me-down clothes. That suit of hers that I wore was a wool burgundy tweed skirt and jacket. My sister was a homecoming candidate her senior year, and this was the suit she worn to the homecoming football game.

When I reached high school and was able to fit into my sister’s homecoming suit, I felt like I could almost fill her shoes. Only, her shoes were a lot less slippery than mine.

…see you next fall!

The day of the trip, my classmates and I had ridden the one-hour bus drive from our school to the casino-hotel. We had sat through the presentation on hospitality careers and taken a brief tour of the main floors of the hotel. As we were heading back to the school bus, we needed to go down one more floor to the transportation entrance.

To get there was a long, grand stairway with ornate red and gold rugs. Meticulously polished brass railings lined the stairs from top to bottom. Overhead, beautiful crystal chandeliers sparkled like diamonds. And alongside the stairs ran two really long escalators.

At the Atlantic City casino-hotels, about 25 percent of the patrons are senior citizens, and on that day, it seemed like all 25 percent were in that stairway heading back to their buses the same time as us.

My classmates slowed and gathered in line to ride the escalator down. I thought to myself, “Why is everyone waiting for the escalator when there’s this amazing stairway that we can stroll down?”

I thought to myself, “Why is everyone waiting for the escalator where there’s this amazing stairway that we can stroll down?”

Hardly anyone was taking the stairs, so I thought I’d be slick by rushing down and being at the bottom to greet my classmates as they got off the escalator. I began scampering down the stairs in the brand-new burgundy flats that I had bought to match my sister’s suit.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t aware how slippery the unworn soles were. All of a sudden both of my feet flew out from under me, and I began sliding down the stairs swiftly on my butt.

After bump, bump, bumping down a few steps, one of my shoes flew off and crashed into a brass railing. It struck such a loud and vibrating “bong” that everyone turned to see what was happening.

An old man in front of me spun around in time to see me sledding on my butt straight toward him. His face lit up like he was suddenly remembering his glory days as a baseball catcher, and I was trying to steal home to win the championship.

He uttered a few “Oh! Ohs!” put up his hands and said, “I’ve gotcha, honey!”

Thank God I skidded to a stop before I had a chance to bowl over the sweet old man. Someone else came over to hand me my shoe, and I walked down the rest of the stairs holding tightly to the railing.

All’s well that ends well

You can imagine the jokes I had to listen to from my friends who watched my not-so poised and graceful decent. But I’m pretty sure everyone had forgotten about it by the next day.

So, yes, there is a seed for thought even in this story. It relates to keeping a clear perspective on things in order to overcome fear or stress. The classic “what if” approach can work if you allow yourself to consider, “what if… a week goes by and I don’t have a topic to write about?” Am I more worried that others will see me as a disappointment or that I’ll see me that way? The truth is that either way life will go on.

Writing my blog is supposed to be fun, but worrying about make-believe deadlines negates the point. So much of what we worry about and put pressure on ourselves for is not life-or-death situations. Yet we get lost sometimes in our perspective and treat them that way anyway. In doing so, we miss out on the joy, beauty, and laughter of life around us.

It’s more important to enjoy life and to laugh at ourselves–at the imperfections of ourselves–than to try being flawless all the time. For example, on that career day field trip, I wanted to appear sophisticated and all grown up, like how I saw my sister in that suit. But I ended up falling down the stairs and having my friends laugh at me.

But what if… I change my perspective just a little bit. I can see it’s possible that both things happened. What if… I achieved the most sophisticated-looking fall of anyone who’s ever gone down a flight of stairs on their butt. And when I stopped, turned and curtsied to the crowd once I was standing solidly at the bottom of the stairs, what if… my ability to laugh at myself was the most grown-up thing I did that day.

When we put too much pressure on ourselves — especially around things that are supposed to be fun, we’re not enjoying life to its fullest. Life is too short to sweat the small stuff. Give yourself a break. Also, use sandpaper or a nail file to scuff the bottoms of new shoes. They’re less slippery that way.

Thank you for spending these moments with me, thinking about life. If you like what you’ve read, I’d love for you to share it. Spread some seeds…