Walking into Walls

Walking into Walls

Even if you have lived in the same place for decades, my advice is not to walk around in the dark. I had been lulled into a false sense of security. I have walked across our front room for more than 20 years, but usually it is daylight, or at night the lights are on. There are three different lights in the front room, including the ceiling light, two table lamps hooked up to another wall switch, and the front entry light. Every time I needed illumination, it was there. The sun or the lamp, dependable and always available, and this was my downfall.

When you cross a space confidently for years, day after day, night after night, you begin to believe no light is necessary. Take a certain number of steps to the hall, at a certain angle, and walk directly back to the bedroom or den, or even the bathroom. After five decades, I was secure in the knowledge of my stride, the speed and orientation necessary to make it into the hall every time. My pride welled up and puffed my chest, and made me believe there was no new thing to be learned in the front room. So who needs light?

If I hadn't hurt myself so many times in the past with such alarming frequency and impunity, I probably would have excused myself this one lapse. But I know better than to try adventuring in the dark. Never mind that I had been lying on the couch reading for half-an-hour, and rose up confidently to go to bed. No matter that as I weaved from the couch to the light switches on the wall, I was a little wobbly. Lying down on a bed and getting up fast can be deadly when you're this old anyway, especially if you consider the medications I take, one of which can cause fainting if you rise too fast. It's a good medication with a small side effect, and I am pretty dizzy most times anyway. Light-headedness is a small price to pay for better health.

But on this particular night, and for no particular reason, I concluded that my long years of trekking across this same front room meant I no longer needed light. I confidently switched off the hall light, the small table lamps, and without another thought, the ceiling light. After all, it was only a few steps across the carpet to the hall, where I could switch on the hall light if I wanted. I swaggered across the darkness, fully expecting to run the gauntlet of the hall without trouble to a peaceful night's sleep. But somewhere between the beginning of my journey and the other side of the room, in the six or seven steps across the carpet, I veered seriously to the left. I was walking at a good clip, nonchalantly anticipating my entry into the hallway, when what to my wandering feet should appear but the far wall of the room.

My forehead met the wall first. I must lead with my forehead when I walk, and I must have been walking 3 or 4 miles per hour. The wall was not moving at all.

If you have ever head butted someone, you will be familiar with the very next sensation I experienced. If you have never had the thrill of banging your head forcefully against the forehead of another person, try walking into a wall. It was so similar, for several seconds I believed I had head butted my wife in the middle of the hall, and proceeded to apologize profusely. The wall stood stoically and took it. When I didn't find my sweetheart's collapsed form on the floor, I realized I had fallen victim to my own hubris. I reached up and felt the blood running into my eyes from the cleft in my skin. A one-inch gash split my forehead wide open.

Turning on the hall light and walking directly to the bathroom, I patted the blood from my forehead for the next hour as the wound eventually sealed. I thought about going to get 5 or 6 stitches at the emergency room, but that would involve driving myself to the hospital with one hand or waking up the wife and asking her to take me, and then I wouldn't have a badge of honor to wear for my stupidity.

There is a nice thin scar running vertically just above my left eyebrow. Sometimes a visual reminder is better than a lecture. I'm sure I won't be walking across the front room in the dark for at least another decade or two. But with how slowly I learn, it may happen again next week. Just remember, lights are our friends. They can help you from head butting the wall.

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