Are you OK?

I have weak ankles. (For the record, I’ve never heard anyone say “I have strong ankles.” I think weak ankles are the default.) I’m the default. I have weak ankles. When I lived in slippery Chicago, I sprained my ankle at least once a year. I’d trip on ice or fall over a snowbank or miss a stair on a rainy day. And then it was R.I.C.E. (rest, ice, compress, elevate) for the next two weeks. Three hundred and sixty odd days later, I’d have to do the whole thing all over again. When I moved to Los Angeles, a notoriously dry place, I thought I’d never sprain an ankle again. I didn’t anticipate the terribleness of Los Angeles’s sidewalks. Two years ago, walking with my husband, I sprained my ankle yet again as I stepped off a particularly high curb. There I was, down on the street, with tears in my eyes. I was embarrassed. I was hurt. I was in a crosswalk in a town that doesn’t value pedestrian culture. But still, a random man stopped. He looked my husband up and down and looked me directly in the eye. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Life’s a little better when we look out for one another.

“Absolutely,” I responded, using my husband’s hand to lever myself upwards. “I have weak ankles.” I knew what the man was really asking: Are you okay? Did this guy hurt you? Do you need help? I was okay. My husband didn’t hurt me. I don’t need help. But I think about that man often. I think about the kindness in checking on someone else, someone you don’t know. I think about the bravery of putting yourself into someone else’s life for a moment. Life’s a little better when we look out for one another. I try to look out for people as that man tried looking out for me. “Are you OK?” is a powerful question and one worth asking.