There's something about getting older that reminds you how much there is to be afraid of. You would think that, as you learn and grow. . .and survive each day. . .you would have a newfound respect for survival and a confidence in your ability to refrain from peril. But no. That's not how it works. Somehow, you realize how lucky you are. How endlessly insane it is that you are still alive. After all that you've done that would suggest the contrary.
When I was locked in my parents' upstairs bathroom, I didn't give it a second's thought that the best way to solve my predicament should be to crawl out the window and use the drainpipe to obtain access to the open window one room over. That's the obvious solution.
While my problem wasn't self-made. . .I did not hesitate to use it as an excuse to do something thrilling and dangerous. Who did I think I was? I look back on that and I wonder. . ."[expletive]. . .What would have happened if I had fallen?"
And yet, I did stupid tricks like that all the time. . .and often, I did fall. But I always got right back up again. Sure, I was a little worse for wear and lived, like almost everyone, my entire childhood with bumps, bruises and scrapes. Bandaids and Neosporin were my best friend. Along with my Johnny Switchblade Adventure Punk and my Bag-O-Glass (see video below.)
I find myself increasingly fearful of 'getting back on the mountain goat' so to speak, however. When I fall [read: fail] I can't help but kick myself while I'm down and express some bizarre version of post-traumatic stress disorder.
In January of 09, I was on my way to do some laundry at my in-laws' house. It had been snowy and icy lately but I knew how to handle myself. I mean. . .nothing had happened to me yet. . .so, obviously nothing COULD happen to me, right? Things just don't happen to you. I'm driving up the main thoroughfare. . .the road's rather clear since the sun is out and shining. . .and there is little to no traffic.
Except this one guy. A honkin' red Ford 350 (Idaho, right?) who's having some difficulty remembering that there are two lanes and one of them is mine. Sure, the white lines are hard to see under some of the packed snow but really. You live in this town. We share the road 'round these parts. He's making me nervous. Alright, dude. If you really feel like purchasing your giant truck gives you entitlement to all of your lane and half of mine, I will be the bigger man (and on that note, please remove those ridiculously undersized truck nutz) and give YOU some room.Whoever said being kind and compassionate got you anywhere in life except last? As I slowly move my car towards the side of the road, I hit a patch of ice that unfortunately did not feel the inclination to melt in the glorious yet insufficient sunshine. Nothing matches that feeling of complete and total loss of control. My car began to turn into that weird rubber pencil trick.
You could tell me over and over and over and over exactly what you're supposed to do in this situation. You could remind me time and again not to overcorrect. You could literally get inside of my brain and write all over my cortex, "Drive INTO the swerve!" It would not matter. Split second reaction does not equal the legitimacy of physics.
All I could do was try to steer into NOT THAT RED TRUCK. I am the nicest person in the world. As I did everything in my power to keep from turning into him, he drove off into the sunset and probably made millions and bought a whole load of truck nutz for his entire family.
I, on the other hand, realized that braking it wasn't working and that I just needed to get off the road. It was all a blur but I managed to see an open parking lot. I did not manage to stop short enough to make use of that empty parking lot. Instead, I am quickly heading towards a storefront ramp bordered by a beautiful clean parked truck on one side and a gleaming mailbox on the other.
By some miracle upon miracles, I came to a sudden and crunching stop. Right here:
The truck was fine. The mailbox. . .untouched. The building? Turns out it was an optometrist's office and this wide-eyed guy comes out because everyone inside thought the end of the world had come. My car was definitely the loser of that fight, though the corner of the office did lose some stucco. The guy catches my eye and I sheepishly wave from behind the wheel with a frightened grin on my face. His head swivels to the parked vehicle. . .then to the mailbox, then back to me. He says, "Boy howdy, I'm sure glad you missed my new truck." So was I.
They invite me inside and call emergency and calm me down while I call Adam (who's stuck down at work because I'd dropped him off earlier since his truck stopped going into gear that very morning - WHY, I ask you, WHY does this always happen to us in twos??) After I stop shaking and crying, I muster the joke that I thought I was going through a drive-thru. I was due for a new pair of specs.
No severe damage. To my physical self or the car. No real blow to the building itself except for a small aesthetic fix. No deployment of airbags. All surface damage and a flat tire.
I keep telling Adam he needs to take me to an empty snowy parking lot one of these days and just let me spin around and play, get comfortable. I realize that, from my comfy dry snow-and-ice free couch, it's much easier to imagine how much fun and games that would be. Twelve panic attacks later, I may be wondering why in the world I would ever make such an absurd suggestion.
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