One More Time, With No Feeling

This past Tuesday, traffic at a country highway intersection in Northwest Indiana had been stopped by two county police officers: there had recently been an accident at the intersection and emergency vehicles needed to cross the highway to get the unfortunate individuals to the hospital. I sat stopped in my car, watching the cop wave the ambulance out of the gas station, mind starting to consider the ongoing to do list in my head, when I was rear-ended by a driver of a pale gold GMC Sierra. When she approached me later to apologize about the accident, she said she had kids in the car and had been distracted looking for something, which is why she didn’t break and ran into me.

I was lucky, as usual: on a country highway with many miles-long stretches of corn or soybean fields and not much else, I got hit directly in front of a gas station and across the street from a tow yard. The police and paramedics were already on site from the previous much more serious accident and had seen the whole thing. I pulled my car into the gas station. After getting out and looking at the back of my car, I reflexively started unloading everything out of the car in preparation for it to be towed away. My neck and lower back had dull aches forming and my head was swimming a bit, but my initial self-assessment told me I was going to be fine.

I texted Basil to tell him what had happened and that I was okay, feeling terrible that I had to send that kind of text twice within a six month time span. He is already very supportive of my career, despite the fact it results in me being away from home for most of the weekdays out of the year. It felt unfair to add this layer of chaos/disaster/worry to that. Letting the guilt I felt settle over me like dust settling from the collision, I popped open my car insurance app and started reporting the accident. I would later make my way to the closest local hospital, about 15 miles from the scene, so they could confirm what I suspected: I had once again escaped with minimal injury.

I have had a hard time feeling much about the accident since it happened. I suspect it is in part because I didn’t see it coming this time: one second I was sitting there considering my small town vegan dinner options and the next second I am struggling to recognize the sound of exploding glass from the rear window of my car. There was no time to brace or scream: it was over as soon as I realized it had begun.

The feelings I have been able to recognize in the aftermath of the accident: feeling fortunate, feeling lucky, and that kind of bewilderment when you come out on the other side of something you had no control over. Everyone was okay, the car is insured, and so life marches on. Already having spent years considering my own mortality after the unexpected losses of people I loved in my twenties, this accident didn’t make me think much about my own death, but confirmed what I already knew: my number might be up any day, no matter how much I believe or prepare otherwise.

I think the Douglas Adams motto “Don’t Panic” from Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is one of the best pieces of advice for traveling and for consulting: always applicable and short enough it can be repeated over and over to one’s self as a calming mantra if need be. After an all-to-short weekend at home with Basil, I will head out on the road again Monday. I plan to enjoy the ride and already look forward to the next time I get to come home.