From The Book of Alchemy: Write about a moment of “glorious awkwardness.”

What moment do I choose when all I have to do is shuffle the deck and each moment is an ace? Shall I write about last fall when my Beloved, my daughter, and I were walking downtown to eat dinner. And somehow I tripped because somehow a stick wedged itself into my sandals and I fell head over heels, quite literally, and landed like a flipped over beetle on the sidewalk. With the stick of death still stuck in my sandal. And my husband’s comment: “And that’s why you wear closed toe shoes.”

Or how about the time I went to a viewing two hours early. I had been invited because I knew the deceased (I had taught him). And I wanted to pay my respects to him and to his family but had limited time because my daughter, only a year old, was in the hospital due to a stomach virus. I was thanked for coming to say good-bye. I, exhausted and feeling already gloriously awkward, thanked the father for his hospitality. Or something like that. And the poor man started sobbing into his already soaked handkerchief.

I live in the zone of awkwardness. I’m in my 50’s and exist in the periphery of teenager trends and when I say their words back to them, they spurt out giggles and maybe a little bit of spit or coffee or energy drink. And my face is an ember and I’m confused at how my words which are their words could be just so awkward.

Sometimes, I embrace my awkwardness. Like at my wedding. All glorious ten minutes of it because I couldn’t understand why a wedding needed to last any longer than that. My mother told me to practice walking in the dress. I mocked her, thinking she was just inventing something to worry about. She was right. Because my bouquet was WAY TOO big and I couldn’t hold it and clutch a handful of the dress so I could walk and have my hand on my dad’s arm. A three armed bride I was not. So Dad and I were both clutching the dress and I held my dad’s arm and somehow perched that damn bouquet that really was way too big. But we managed to waddle down half the collonaded aisle (I was married in a garden) when the garden’s cat pounced on my wedding dress’s train. Which ended up making the entire wedding a moment of absolute laughter. Because I couldn’t stop laughing throughout the wedding. Best wedding ever.

Awkwardness is when I wear heels (maybe an inch high but I doubt even that high) and a cute business wool skirt and, thankfully, black hose. And when I missed one of the marble steps and my feet went out from under me, I slid down the rest of the marble steps on my butt. With my legs straight out in front of me. With a young male student standing at the stair’s base, looking UP at me sliding DOWN toward him. So I slammed my hands in the space between my legs to ensure the skirt stayed closed.

But wait, there’s more. Like the time I was sitting in a plastic student chair that students, over the years, had ripped the seat off of the rivets. I called it the “ejection seat” and wouldn’t let students sit in it because I didn’t trust the chair’s balance. Which was a good thing given, one time, I was leaning back in the seat and the seat completely ripped off the legs and I fell backwards and was seated/laying on the ground, my legs in a perfectly straight ninety degree angle over my head. Thank God I was wearing pants that time.

Then there’s the farting while I’m hiking. Or the awkward jokes that fall flat, usually in front of someone I respect. Or saying something that I really didn’t mean to but my tongue got tied because my brain is going too fast and I’m nervous or anxious or stressed or exhausted or just plain awkward. Becuase, I really am awkward.

Of course, one of my students would also tell me, all the time, that the situation wasn’t awkward until I asked if I had made it awkward which was the turning point of making the moment awkward. So maybe I shouldn’t ask anymore.

My awkwardness comes out when I completely mis-hear what someone said. And, of course, what I hear is something horribly dirty and the person is a wonderfully moral, ethical, faith-based individual who would never say anything close to what I mis-heard. And when I ask them to repeat what they said, all the time in a shocked voice that is quickly rising in octaves, they know that I have heard something incredibly wrong which makes me seem like I’m a bit of a pervert. But I’m not. I’m just not hearing things correctly. Really. I promise. Don’t make this awkward.

Awkwardness happens when I walk my dogs and I have an argument with myself. I am relieved to learn that it’s completely normal to talk to myself, that everyone really does it. But I never see people talking to themselves. Except for one lady. And, in all honesty, I know that she was not well. So I like to pretend that I’m talking to someone on my earbuds. Really.

With my new found courage and confidence, I’m embracing my awkwardness. I have good intentions and do my best to show compassion to people. But, sometimes, being awkward is just a lot of fun when the people are unsuspecting. Or jerks. That’s when I really let my awkwardness shine. Because they have no idea what to do and I’m just having the time of my life.

So be nice. Or I’ll be awkward….