Falls happen at different speeds. If I felt like going into it, I could site something about Newton’s Law that proves objects in motion stay in motion. I could search my brain for high school physics that taught us about velocity and momentum. I could quote some research about the natural effects of gravity, but I think we can all agree that there are speeds at which things fall.

You can fall slowly. A slow fall reminds me of a story from my college basketball days. One sunrise training session, I ran next to my favorite running partner. We had the same pace (slow) and were totally fine with it. We talked and laughed (the only way to make it through multiple years of losing seasons) as we ran along side each other. Her toe caught a crack, sending her body’s momentum tumbling forward. Her arms flailed as she attempted to stay on her feet. For what felt like eternity, she flailed folded over, fighting to not eat shit on the pavement. It was incredible. It was horribly ungraceful, yet somehow incredibly acrobatic. I started laughing. She kept stumbling. As my laugh grew bigger and louder, I reached over and put my hand on her back. To this day, we’re not sure why I kept my hand there. It was like I needed to touch her so we could laugh together. I kept my hand there while I cried with laughter, the whole time she was fighting to stay upright. She would catch herself and try to stand up, but each trip created more laughter, which kept my hand on her back, which kept her bent forward. It was the longest, slowest fall of all times.

You can also fall so fast you don’t even know what’s happening. That type of fall reminds me of another college story. Different campus, but one of the best falls I’ve ever witnessed. When I went back to school for my Masters, I was older than the average student. I wasn’t that much older, but I was dating an older man and found the stupidity of the young males’ egos laughable. One day as I walked across campus, I watched an immature douche bag do his best to woo a young lady not far from him. He was crossing campus on the grass and called out to her on the path. I couldn’t hear what he said, but it was enough for her to look back and laugh a bit. He spun on his toes and continued to flirt with her as she walked away. He walked backwards; noticeably cocky from what he felt was a successful encounter. He smiled; he was confident; he was indestructible. Until the back of his legs hit that bench. Oh man, did he fall and did he fall hard. That bench took out his legs and his ego. He hit the ground so fast he couldn’t get up because he didn’t even know he was down yet. Once his self-esteem came to, he sat up to see if the girl had seen him. She was long gone, but he and I made eye contact. No words were needed. In an instant, he fell from his own grace. As he got up I noticed his swagger had a little less swag.

I think I’m in the middle of a fall. There are plenty of verbs in the English language we could have used to describe the beginning stages of love, but we chose to use the word fall. People fall in love. It’s an action. It has momentum – it’s moving from one place to another. As I now recognize this, I’m wondering how it happened to me. When did the fall start? Is it slow or fast or is that a non-question? If falling in love is an action that is moving me from one place to another, I guess the hope of this fall is that I’m not doing it alone. I hope we fall together.