We all have stories about how bad a certain situation could have been. In most cases we tell the stories where we narrowly escape catastrophe. Tonight I was reminded of one such example.
When I first moved to Paris I liked to try out a different restaurant almost every night. One evening I found myself at Leon de Bruxelles, a franchise offering consistently good mussels and fries. I was seated on a banquette with my back to the wall (ladies always get the seat facing out in Paris) looking up a broad, beautiful curved staircase. Customers sat on either side of me.
As I was gazing into my dreams in the general area of the stairs, a waiter dropped a water goblet. The glass struck a stair and exploded.
As I watched in mesmerized immobility, the thousands of pieces of glass were carried through the air toward me, completely covering me with tiny shards. To my right and left, the customers were fine. I was the only one affected.
In shock I stood up, shook myself to get rid of the glass, and proceeded to make my way out of the restaurant. The waiters were asking me if I was okay, if they could do anything, where was I going; I didn't know the answer to any of those questions, so I just kept walking.
Once outside of the restaurant I did a brief inventory and was relieved to see I did not have a single scratch on me.
The deeper meaning of my close call? I have no idea. But for sure next time someone tells me I am crazy to do such dangerous things as zip-lining or skydiving, I will remind them that danger lives everywhere. I think our job is to make sure we are living well and fully when it catches up with us.
Full speed ahead!