SlowI like to get things done fast.

Like quickly. And efficiently. Without delay.

I read fast. I eat fast. I talk fast. I think fast (too fast, sometimes). I understand fast and I explain fast.

My way doesn’t embrace the impatient among us. I’m not good at savoring or lolling about or stretching things out. I even relax fast.

So when I smashed my foot against the wall while turning a corner inside my house, I was going too — you guessed it! — fast. I knew I’d broken my toe (if you’re fast like me, you’ve had multiple toe breaks by the time you are in your 30s or 40s), but I was still moving too fast to properly address it.

I procured a pair of crutches, but didn’t use them because I couldn’t move very fast with them. I knew I should use more ice, but you have to stay still for that and that sounds kind of time-consuming to me. I did use the injured toe card to have my kids to pick up some slack as far as walking the dog, and that’s been great, but of course they don’t do it as fast as I do.

Fast forward two days and….the toe was bad. Much worse. Because I did so much, so fast, as if all were normal, things went downhill. (That’s a lesson from Healing 101 that I neglected to apply to my own self in this case.) Yesterday, I gave in, rescheduled some work calls and took myself to a nearby urgent care facility. It didn’t take them long to tell me the two things I already knew:

1) The toe was broken.

2) There’s not much you can do for a broken toe. (They taped me up and gave me a walking boot to help me feel better mentally, but that’s about it.)

Today, I’ve taken it easier. I haven’t slowed down mentally or to-do-list-wise, but physically I have — hallelujah! — given myself permission to slow down. I’m working from my bedroom with my foot elevated and wouldn’t you know it….it is starting to feel better!?

I was feeling a little proud and maybe a little arrogant, as if I’d outsmarted my body by doing what it wanted so that it would start to do what I wanted, when I dragged myself (literally) into the kitchen for lunch. As I was thinking about how smart I am and how fast I’ll be back on my feet, wouldn’t you know it….that possibly-moldy jar of salsa that no one will ever eat made its way to the front of the fridge and fell out just as I opened the door. And in The-Universe-sure-has-a-great-sense-of-humor Department, it shattered ALL OVER MY BOOTED FOOT and then bounced off said foot/boot and onto the floor, landing halfway under the fridge (see pic at the top of this post).

I know there must be some great, deep, soul-shifting lessons here. About slowing down. About being grateful. About recognizing and accepting our limitations. About pushing ourselves. About managing expectations. About being ok with enough and not having to have and do and be everything all at once.

But right now, I’m not really seeing them or getting them. I’m too busy rinsing salsa and glass off of my walking boot and blowdrying the velcro. With an actual hair dryer. While standing on one foot. With chunks of salsa splattered up and down my bare legs. So that I can actually wear this thing again. And maybe this time go a little slower.

Or not.