“I’m OK” allowed me to understand that although I was stricken with melancholy and self-loathing, I was going to be just fine in the grand scheme of things.īut every time I ask “Why do we fall Bruce?” it’s to remember that every mistake, big or small, is a learning experience. It’s a sign of growth, I suppose, that my preferred leitmotif for emotionally-fraught moments has become more didactic. In my “I’m OK” era, anything would set me off, whether it was missing the subway by a quarter of a second, waking up with a killer hangover, or just sitting alone with my thoughts for too long. I’ve always been OK,” over and over again. Before I had “Why do we fall Bruce?” when I would descend into a vortex of unbearable self-hatred I would write, “I’m OK. Perhaps it’s because everyone is kind of a dumbass at heart, but the most effective mantras are always the simplest. Hopefully, I don’t have to pay a licensing fee. “Why do we fall Bruce?” is perhaps the first therapeutic method with a movie tie-in. It might seem silly, using a line from a Batman movie as a form of emotional management, but you know what? It works. (Can’t be the Batman without the bats!) After his father comes to the rescue, he carries his son in his arms and says, “Why do we fall Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves up.” In the movie, a young Bruce Wayne is traumatized after he tumbles down a well, which is full of bats, an experience that changes his life forever. It’s a technique to use when you’re at the precipice of a downward emotional spiral. “Why do we fall Bruce?” WDWFB? It’s a mantra. I asked myself, “Why do we fall Bruce?” Looking at the oil, which was now seeping into the hallway and the living room, I answered, “So we can learn to pick ourselves up.” I shrieked, silently scolding myself for being so stupid, for not letting the oil cool for long enough before throwing it away, for being so impatient all the time.
Suddenly, there was a gallon of oil on my kitchen floor. As I lifted the bag out of the can, I noticed that the oil, still hot, dissolved the plastic of the container like a flesh-eating parasite. I rifled through my recycling bin and found a gallon-sized empty protein powder container (my boyfriend fucking loves his protein), poured the oil into it, and tossed it in the trash. I hadn’t ventured into doughnut land until now precisely because of the clean-up-deep-frying is a sloppy task-but with infinite idle time at home, this was my moment. The deep-fried confections were sitting pat in my living room as I tackled my next major project: cleaning it all up. I had just finished making doughnuts for the first time.
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