Occasionally, utter humiliation is probably healthy.
Today, I was crossing a busy Chicago street in front of a silver Mercedes. While checking the bike lane, I stepped deep into a pothole. Catapulting forward, I did that thing where you’re scrambling on your palms, trying not to completely fall over. My water bottle flew out of my hand and my heels went flying up.
The Mercedes pulled up as I skulked over to the sidewalk, and the driver leaned over and asked,
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” brief pause. “I’m fine. Just hurt my pride.”
He grinned.
“I thought you were going down hard!”
I tried to say something pseudo-coherent, but probably failed. He drove off, and another guy crossed the street to ask if I was alright.
Guess maybe I’m not all that and a bag of muffins. Just another Tuesday.
See that crater-sized pothole? My dignity is somewhere in that pit.