Close Calls

Driving down the highway, the rain's intensity continued to increase. Turning down Jack Johnson's strumming, I focused all my attention on the road ahead. I was poised to react to hydroplaning. I was tense on the steering wheel. My knuckles were white, and my forearms began to ache along with my shoulders and traps.

This is how I drive when I'm not on a clear, clean highway on a bright, sunny, windless day.

I tried to switch to the far left lane, but I realized it was flooded. I tapped the brakes and returned to my lane. Moments later a small, dark sedan impatiently passed me on the left. I began to think that maybe the conditions in that lane had improved, and maybe I could also switch back. 20 seconds later, that car spun out of control. I saw headlights facing me then turning swiftly to my left as the tail lights of the SUV in front of me started swinging to the left. Faced with the broadside of an SUV in my face, I had two options, try to brake before I slid into it at 65 MPH or cut right after barely breaking.

I chose the former.

I pumped the breaks and realized quickly there would be nowhere near enough time to stop before broadsiding this vehicle. Panick started to well. I abandoned my choice quickly for the latter. I moved to the right after releasing the breaks, holding my breath, both hands on the steering wheel. I maneuvered onto the shoulder, and passed the SUV by inches, just as I heard a sickening and deafening crunch to my left.

The car behind me hadn't been so lucky.

Everyone says we are here for a reason. Things happen for a reason.

What's "A Reason?"

It's a way to legitimize sad circumstances. We laugh off decisions we made that helped us avoid close calls by saying, "I knew it had to have happened for a reason!"

I've started counting my close calls. I've been in 2 serious car accidents, a hairy climbing situation, struck an IED in Afghanistan, was shot 3 times through my backpack in Afghanistan, and just barely missed a pileup on I680 N heading up to Lake Tahoe last weekend, which I just described. I chose breakfast with my friend from Washington instead of cliff diving with friends in Big Sur, and it just so happened the water was too low. My friend died hours later of brain death, right around the time I was having my midday snack at a Latin and rock festival downtown. Knowing me, I would have taken that first jump. My mother was a drug addict, and didn't think it was necessary to go cold turkey just for something as silly as a pregnancy, and lastly, I tumbled down the U-Haul stairs as a toddler, landing squarely on my head. Cold, hard concrete against soft, bloody skin.

So, what's a reason?

Why was I the one dialing the 911 call, shaking, and unable to relax for hours? Why wasn't I the one strewn across the highway in the torrential downpour, staring up through glistening raindrops and distorted beams of light with the realization I'll never walk again?

Hoping for a quick, painless, quiet death.

What's a reason?

I'm searching.

Searching hard.

As soon as I figure it out, you'll be the first to know.