I was feeling pretty confident as I left Washington, DC and made my way across the country to the “other” Washington where I live. No-one was picking me up at the airport, and I had made a reservation for the airport shuttle to take me home.  I was cutting it close as I grabbed my bag from the overhead compartment.  I had aggressively shoved it in there when I boarded the plane, and I knew it was going to be just as difficult to dislodge it when I was in a hurry to get to the shuttle.  I finally extricated it, and I realized if I wanted to catch the last shuttle of the night, I would need to run to catch the train to take me to the shuttle area.  The escalator was too slow, and when I picked my bag up to start running down the stairs, I was confident I could beat the train doors that were slowly closing.  I was almost there when I felt my flipflops slip on the dusty linoleum.  I managed to clumsily slide/dive almost doing the splits into the train (suitcase first) through the doors as they met, just barely able to grab the cursed flipflop that remained outside. All was silent as I untangled myself from the heap of disaster that was now me.  A bald woman sweating profusely as she nervously grabs her smartphone to type a message to her husband in the guise of looking nonchalant. I am embarrassed, but I’m also shocked that not one person even offered to help me.  I think I may have heard an “Oh my God” as I made my landing, but not one person said, “Are you okay?” or “Can I help you?”  No one would look at me, and I wanted to disappear.  At the same time, I wish I would have wittingly said something like, “How’s that for an entrance?”  I’m keeping that for next time because I know there will always be a next time for me to trip over something, show my confidence, and rise above my experience.  I know there will always be another chance to fix it, and I will!

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