Broken Ankle, Open Heart: Why I'm Still Going to Spain
I broke my ankle yesterday.
And while I wish I could say it happened during something glamorous or adventurous… it was a flower.
Yes, a flower.
I was walking along a curb when I decided to jump—gracefully, of course—over a flower in my path. In my mind, I saw myself landing the jump like a gymnast sticking the vault in the Olympics. Strong. Clean. Poised.
Well… it didn’t quite work out that way.
One jump, one twist, one snap—and the rest is history.
And now, in five days, I’m supposed to be on a plane to Spain.
It’s the kind of trip you plan for and dream about. I imagined myself strolling cobblestone streets, wandering through markets, enjoying quiet tapas dinners with my husband, soaking up beauty in motion. The kind of freedom you feel when you step out of routine and into something new.
But instead of walking freely, I’ll be limping—or rolling—my way through it.
And you know what? That’s okay.
Here’s what I’ve realized:
The story doesn’t end because something breaks. It just… pivots.
This trip will look different than I planned. But maybe that’s the whole invitation.
To slow down.
To be present.
To stop chasing the moment and let it come to me instead.
Maybe this is also my chance to return to something I’ve neglected for too long: drawing.
When I travel, I usually move too fast—afraid to miss anything. But now I’ll be still more often. Sitting longer. Letting the light, the color, and the feeling of a place soak in. Maybe I’ll finally capture those moments on paper instead of just in memory.
I’m still going to Spain.
Not because I’m stubborn (though let’s be honest, a little of that helps), but because I believe in showing up for life—even when it surprises you, even when it slows you down, even when the version you imagined breaks into something less glossy but more real.
I am a Habit Healer. And healing isn’t always convenient.
Sometimes healing looks like crutches and a carry-on.
Sometimes it looks like sitting longer at a café table, sketching what you see.
Sometimes it looks like laughing at your own not-so-gymnastic landing.
This is my Dip.
As Seth Godin writes, “The Dip is the long slog between starting and mastering.” And right now, I’m in it. But this journey—to keep the commitment to joy, to exploration, to being fully alive despite the detour—is one worth pushing through.
Not everything that breaks has to be canceled.
Sometimes, it just gets reimagined.
I’ll walk this trip differently—perhaps slower, definitely more mindfully.
But I’ll still walk it.
And maybe that’s the invitation we all need right now:
To stop waiting for things to be perfect before we say yes.
To stop thinking healing has to be easy.
To let the broken moments become portals to presence.
I may be one ankle down, but my heart is wide open.
Spain, here I come.
Now I want to hear from you:
Have you ever had a moment where life didn’t go according to plan—but you showed up anyway?
Did something break… and give you a better story because of it?
Share your story in the comments below.
Let’s remind each other that healing, joy, and resilience often arrive through the side door.
This reminds me of a 70-year-old woman I had as a patient years ago. She broke her ankle skiing in Switzerland (I'm from South Africa, so I thought she was cool by those two facts alone already).. when I got to her the following day, a heap of books and tapes were lying piled up next to her bed and I asked what she's doing. She said, 'Oh, well - she always wanted to learn French, and she figured since she would be lying on her back for the next six weeks, she might as well learn a new language". This was such a beautiful example of making the best of a situation and that we're never too old to learn, and it still inspires me to this day.
Hi Laurie! So sorry you had this happen. Similarly, my knee gave out (torn meniscus) before a prepaid and somewhat necessary trip to Iceland. I'd planned to do all sorts of outdoor activities and my surgery couldn't take place before the trip. I went anyway, because I was expected in business meetings, and I'd never been to the country. I stayed at trailheads and watched hubby disappear across the landscape where I'd planned to hike. Jealous. But I did get to see an erupting volcano from afar, and the Northern Lights. Plus, after a soak at the Blue Lagoon, I was able to walk through the Continental Rift on the paved path and visit Geysir. Most importantly, I learned what it was like to be a disabled traveler (albeit for only a couple weeks) and have to ask for -- insist upon -- accommodation at lodgings, restaurants, and on transportation. That part was a real eye-opener and now I have so much empathy for those who need such accommodations.