A Word Defined, and Lived | Stumble

Usually to stumble is not that pleasant.  It can be embarrassing, painful, surprising.  Yet I am convinced that there can be a certain sort of delight in stumbling, almost a magic in it.  As a departure from the ordinary, it reminds us of the grace that encompasses this world.  I do a fair amount of moving clumsily in my life (as anyone listening to me play the organ can attest).  I love the way words shift their meaning depending on the context in which you use it, blending with other words to create an idea.  With that in mind, I would like to share with you the various definitions of "stumble" as well as some ways I stumble and what they teach me.   

Stumble.

1.  trip or momentarily lose one's balance; almost fall.
"her foot caught a shoe and she stumbled"
synonyms: trip (over/up), lose one's balance, lose/miss one's footing, slip
"she stumbled and fell heavily"

2.  trip repeatedly as one walks.
"his legs still weak, he stumbled after them"
synonyms: stagger, totter, teeter, dodder, blunder, hobble, move clumsily
"he stumbled back home"

3.  make a mistake or repeated mistakes in speaking.
"she stumbled over the words"
synonyms: stammer, stutter, hesitate, falter, speak haltingly;

4.  find or encounter by chance.
"they stumbled across a farmer selling 25 acres"
synonyms: come across/upon, chance on, happen on, bump into, light on

Sometimes our stumbling leaves us scraped, as my recent impulse to climb up a down escalator generously confirmed to me.  Dear reader, I don't know exactly why, but the opportunity to go up the down escalator after exiting the subway at a Metro stop without the usual hordes of people pressing in from all sides was just too good to pass up.  Starting was a titch difficult and the ascent easy enough, but the dismount from that escalator was quite clumsy.  I lunged, lurched, stumbled, and biffed it, though thankfully off the the ever-moving track.  It was painful and I for the next week or so the band-aid on my knee seemed like such a childish accessory, bringing with it a wave of self-consciousness every time someone mentioned it.  But the experience also very much helped me laugh.  

Allow me to share with you another stumble, this one in the realm of speech.  As I was talking with a friend about her recent trip to the Big Apple, "Yew Nork" slipped out of my mouth.  That slick spoonerism caught me off guard and gave me such delight.  Dear reader, as though to compensate for the embarrassment they could cause, stumbles are often accompanied by laughter.  Or tears.  Or both.  Which I think is just right. 

Here is my favorite kind of stumbling, the kind I feel is magical, when we can be surprised by how circumstances align and present themselves for us.  Months ago, as I was driving late at night one weekend, I stumbled upon this song by Chris Thile and Edgar Myer after feeling like I ought to turn on the radio.  The beauty of this impressed me deeply.  It was such a gift, unexpectedly given and joyfully received, and that experience reminds me of the healing power of music.

This is one last stumbled upon.  Its a poem by one of my favorite poets, which I feel speaks eloquently about the art of stumbling while adjusting to a load.  Here's to practicing, and embracing the stumbles as we carry our weight.  

"Heavy" | Mary Oliver

That time

I thought I could not

go any closer to grief

without dying

I went closer,

and I did not die.

Surely God

had His hands in this,

as well as friends.

Still, I was bent

and my laughter,

as the poet said, 

was nowhere to be found.

Then said my friend Daniel

(brave even among lions),

“It’s not the weight you carry

but how you carry it -

books, bricks, grief -

it’s all in the way

you embrace it, balance it, carry it

when you cannot and would not,

put it down.”

So I went practicing.

Have you noticed?

Have you heard

the laughter

that comes, now and again,

out of my startled mouth?

How I linger

to admire, admire, admire

the things of this world

that are kind, and maybe

also troubled -

roses in the wind,

the sea geese on the steep waves,

a love

to which there is no reply?