The One With the Cruel Joke...

As we go through the mundane motions of daily life, we can have an instant where, suddenly, we are transported back to the most terrifying moment of our lives by something so simple as a sound. A mere noise, reaching you before your eyes even filter the wreckage before them. Literal wreckage.

A split second screech, followed by a gut clenching boom as the deafening sound of metal on metal collid with your unsuspecting ears. Leaving even the bravest of souls a bit shaken. I must admit to anyone who knows not of my recent experiences, I am not the bravest of souls.

It was God's fate that on September 25 the boom I heard ring and felt resonate through my own body did not end my life. Needless to say my gratefulness at this second chance is the most precious gift I have been given. Yet, I can not help but think it is a cruel joke to see the same car, a mini cooper, being plowed into by a truck, not unlike the one who drove us off the road that fateful night a mere two months ago.

Oddly enough, the first emotion was complete disconnect. It felt like a dream. One where I could look away, blink a few times and when my eyes turned back upon that intersection the little blue car would have been far away. Safely meeting some friends for drinks. Picking up some medication for an ailing relative. Going home to let out the new puppy so they didn't ruin the couches or catch the latest episode of Glee.

Yet as smoke poured out of the two vehicles in front of me and my friend sitting next to me logically, responsiblly dialed for help, a surging emotion of GET OUT! rose up within me. My own frantic memories of knowing I needed to exit my personal little inferno ballooned within and every ounce of my being wanted to do something. GET OUT! my brain screamed at her. Coopers catch on fire, I thought. I should help the blond woman (yes, another coincidence) who seemed to not be moving. But I was stuck. My body literally would not move as I watched the events unfold before me.

The lights blinked in front of me. Red. Yellow. Green. Red. Yellow.
The turning signals of the cars behind me seemed to mock my inability to logic out the next step.

"You ok?"

Even genuine concern from the gentle soul next to me could not reprieve me of the emotions that surged through my entire being and made my body tremble with the memories. I can't keep driving was all I could say.

The One Where it Begins....

Being an avid fan of the written word I happen to look at my life like a storybook with lots of chapters…
Some chapters are well written. Some are scrawled quickly on a cocktail napkins at 3 am in a dark corner. Some look like Swiss cheese, lots of holes.Some are rose colored, others have no color at all. There are the ones where the pen cries. Smiles. Laughs. Drips with sarcasm. Some of them desperately need a double sided mirror, while others can stand straight faced and proud.
Some of them have beautiful illustrations, but more often they just have doodles. Sometimes it feels like the page finally gets to reads happily ever after… and then the plot thickens, once again...

The One Where I Start To Figure It Out...

I can't tell you what this blog is about. I don't have a clue.

You see, just this evening I had a conversation with someone important in my life. They asked me why I stopped writing on my political blog. Depressing, I responded. Politics can be depressing and overwhelming. You should write about something else, they said. So here I am. Writing about something else.

See its something of a surprise, even to myself, but when someone believes that you can do things, we start to believe that we actually can. Or should.

Sometimes it takes a little nudge, acknowledgment of a skill or implication of admiration, to get someone to take a risk again. My risk today, writing. I used to write all the time, but then... I just lost the spark that inspired much of my writing.

Maybe somewhere in this mess of a blog I can find the spark again.