Widowhood is Like Parkour (And Yes, I'm Being Serious)

A Widow Life reflection on why grief is basically extreme sports for the emotionally brave

Okay, hear me out. I know what you're thinking: "Did this widow just compare her grief journey to people jumping off buildings and doing backflips over trash cans?"

Yes. Yes, I did. And I'm about to convince you why this comparison is actually genius.

Plot Twist: Life Became an Obstacle Course

Picture this: You're walking through life on a nice, predictable sidewalk. Maybe it's got a few cracks, but generally, you know where you're going. Then BAM – someone literally rearranges the entire landscape while you're sleeping. Suddenly there are walls where doors used to be, the ground has random holes, and that familiar path to the grocery store now requires you to scale a building and swing from a chandelier.

Welcome to widowhood, folks. It's like waking up in an episode of "American Ninja Warrior" except nobody handed you a helmet or explained the rules.

This is where parkour comes in. Those seemingly crazy people who look at a concrete wall and think "challenge accepted" instead of "nope, I'll find another way"? They're onto something.

Photo credit: IG ParkourWomen

The "Well, This Sucks" Assessment Phase

The first thing any good traceur (that's parkour speak for "person who's clearly more coordinated than me") does is assess the situation. They don't just randomly fling themselves at obstacles – they stop, look around, and figure out what they're working with.

Sound familiar? Remember those first few weeks when you stood in your kitchen staring at the coffee maker like it was a Rubik's cube? That was your assessment phase. You were basically going, "Okay, universe, I see what you've done here. This is... a lot. But I'm still here, so I guess we're doing this."

It also reminds me a little bit of my childhood gymnastics days, ….but if there were no instructors around to keep order in the gym. Scary thought.

Pro tip: The assessment phase is allowed to include crying, swearing, and eating cereal for dinner. It's all part of the process.

Breaking Down the Impossible Into the "Meh, I Got This"

Here's where parkour gets really smart. Instead of looking at that intimidating 8-foot wall and having an existential crisis, traceurs break it down: "Okay, I'll put my left foot here, grab that ledge, push up with my right leg, swing my body over." Boom. Impossible becomes possible.

Widowhood works the same way, except instead of walls, we're dealing with things like:

• The dreaded "party of one" restaurant reservation

• Figuring out what that weird noise in the garage is (spoiler: it's probably nothing, but you're going to Google "house settling noises" at 2 AM anyway)

• Attending couple friends' parties where you're now the mathematical anomaly that breaks their dinner party symmetry

Each of these feels massive until you break it down:

• Restaurant: Make reservation, show up, eat food, leave. (Bringing a book is totally acceptable backup.)

• Garage noise: Ignore it, call a friend, or YouTube "how to be brave about mysterious house sounds."

• Dinner party: Show up, be fabulous, let them deal with their own seating chart anxiety.

The Art of the Graceful Stumble