Last night, while slicing lemons, I accidentally mistook the tip of my index finger on my left hand for the final slice. Blood and pain alerted me to my error.
And I’ve been alerted in more ways than one ever since. For instance, the cut is in the exact place where I hold dental floss to clean my teeth. It’s in the same place where this finger pushes a piano key or one on my keyboard. It’s also in a difficult place to bandage, since the adhesive part extends over my finger and gets in the way.
Of course, this tragedy isn’t on the par with the Paris attacks or an auto accident or even a health issue. I’m not claiming it is. But it does make me aware that when some small incident – such as a sliver under the skin or something in the eye or a tiny cut in a problem place – occurs, it makes that part of the body paramount in importance.
Eventually the cut will heal; my teeth will survive; and my various keys on the piano and the keyboard will once again be struck unconsciously. In essence, life will return to pre-cut normal.
If only real tragedies could be like that.
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