This weekend, I’m doing first aid. It’s the final requirement for my yoga teacher training, and then I can start teaching classes. I used to be certified when I was in Girl Guides, but it’s been so long, I have to do the full course again. So much has changed since the 90s. They don’t recommend the “doughnut” bandage for impaled objects anymore. But calling 911 isn’t nearly the problem it used to be. AED machines are smaller than my laptop, and they raise the chances of surviving cardiac arrest by 70%.
I started writing this post with the intention of telling the story of my lunch break I was sitting on a bench, shaking my Starbucks salad, when I heard an oddly quiet voice say, “shake, shake, shake.” I almost didn’t think it was real until I looked up to see a 30something guy in the passenger seat of a car waiting to turn. He put his fingers up in a peace sign. I tried to scowl, but I was mostly confused.
These are the kinds of stories women tell, and men say, “So, what? He wasn’t being rude. It’s not like he called you a bitch.”
He interrupted my lunch. He inserted himself into my life. He is a strange man who demanded my attention and then disappeared. Imagine every time you try to take a bite of kale and brown rice, a man taps on your shoulder and says, “Hey. Pay attention to me.” That’s what it’s like to be a woman.
But then I ate my salad, and it was delicious. The sky was blue, the clouds were fluffy, the sun was warm. I know a little more about how to save a life. The world is still amazing, so hold on.