Sometimes, things don’t go to plan. No matter how much you’ve planned, schemed, measured and prepared. There are some things you just can’t control. Say for instance, the weather. You can plan a pretty picnic but you can’t predict the weather. (Yes, I just quoted Outkast, don’t judge!) This past weekend was my best friend Meggie’s bachelorette party, and we had all these fun things planned for the weekend. The weather didn’t care. Friday plans, canceled because of rain. Saturday plans, canceled because of rain. And here I was, in a hotel room with five people all dressed up, trying desperately to keep it together and not freak out. Calling friends for favors, calling Jeremy to keep me from breaking down, and sitting in a stairwell ruining my mascara because I was just so frustrated with it all. But I decided I wouldn’t let it get to me. I made new plans, pulled together a plan B with help from my friends, and tried to relax.
Then I tried to walk down the stairs. At the first place we went to for the evening, I went to turn around to ask a friend something, missed a step and landed squarely on my left butt check and shoulder, thumping down every.single.step. as I careened towards the bottom. That’s where I landed, legs splayed, covered in my drink, with a bouncer running towards me with his arms open and a look of horror on his face. I scrambled up as quickly as I could, winced as I realized I could barely walk, and felt it coming. The hot tears of an inevitable sob fest. I wildly scanned the room for the bathroom and darted as fast as I could into the first available stall where I collapsed and just let it out. Meggie deserved to have an amazing weekend, and with the rain pouring outside and my dress soaking wet, I just felt defeated. Falling down the stairs was the proverbial straw (or as my best friend Claire joked, maybe someone actually HAD dropped a wet straw on the stairs and that was clearly why I fell). I felt like I had let her down and hadn’t been able to give her the Bachelorette Party she deserved. And it stung. Worse than the pain that was inhabiting my entire left side.
After I let it out (and I’m sure confused a few people in the bathroom who wondered why there was a sobbing girl in the corner), I picked myself up. Literally and figuratively. I got off the floor, took a deep breath and headed back out to find Meggie and our friends. Was my ego bruised? Yes. Was my butt bruised? Definitely. But I realized that the more I let this affect me, the more it would affect Meggie and the weekend. So I made the decision that I would let it all go. Let go of the plans, let go of the stress and have a great time with my best friend. I didn’t want to waste the whole weekend feeling sorry for myself. I wanted to spend it with my best friend, that I don’t get to see nearly enough, to celebrate her and her marriage, and laugh and be ridiculous as only we can. And after all of the weekend’s events, I can say confidently that we did that. -A