Appreciation of life.
Car braking. Bridge. Bang! Crash! Darkness. Serenity. Weightlessness. Free from fear. Opened eyes. Gargling. Fighting. Unknown. Voices. Hope. Relief.
Car crash.
One of the most memorable, notorious moments from my childhood.
I was five, sitting in a car with four men I barely knew. One of them was a distant relative supposed to be looking after me. I had a gut feeling that something was off. Maybe it was the drink they stopped to get at the local shop. Or their erratic behavior exaggerated joy and focus everywhere, not on the road.
We made the turn and drove towards the bridge. The only bridge in the small village that I used to pass countless times. Looking through the front window, I focused on the bridge handrails on the right side. Sturdy, concrete-made bars were old as the white paint was coming off, revealing their age. They had started deteriorating but seemed solid enough — I tried to convince myself that they separate us from falling into the river, 10–15 meters beneath. I cramped up in the rear seat and counted the seconds till we got through.
Time slowed down. Seconds became longer. As we approached the handrails, I saw that we wouldn't make it. And I thought, “what if…”.
I closed my eyes, focused on my body, and there it was. I felt a strong hit, and for a brief moment, I felt free. I lifted off in the air, free from gravity and imagined fear. I was free from the pain I had been doing to myself, wondering, … There was no need to make my creative effort to imagine what the threat could be … because here I was, meeting the very thing I was so afraid of as it presented. I didn't choose this, but there was no other way than to accept it.
When I opened my eyes, the car was on its roof. I was lucky to be in the air pocket, and water was coming from everywhere. I felt other passengers gargling below the water and trying to get out of the car through the broken windows. I saw my blood dripping off my hands and elbows. I couldn't open my door to reach the rear window. I was lucky the river was shallow enough for the car not to keep sinking.
I felt relief when I heard the voices and somebody trying to open the door. The local workers from the garages nearby heard the crash and came to help. I still remember the worker who got me out, Kaspars.
Moving on
Some say I should be angry at my parents; how could they let this happen? I know I should; maybe I was. But the expiration rate of blaming them has long been over since I passed 18, and I have forgiven them. I know that they did the best for my sister and me, as well as they knew how to.
I am also grateful to my father and driving instructor for their patience in teaching me to drive and endure my panic attacks.
I've often been a shy, socially anxious kid striving hard to push through the fear of the unknown. Now in adulthood, I'm amazed at how creative the mind can be in imagining dangers in the world and taking control of the body to protect itself. How well the mind can see the patterns where they are and where they are not. From an early age, I knew there were dangers in the world, and they could hurt. But I have been lucky to live in the part of the world where most often, it's not the case. And looking back at my life, I wish I had been bolder and more courageous many times. It probably won't happen in the way I wish it did, but I'm grateful for having been able to share the goodness in the best way I knew how to. I am also thankful to be healthy, have a healthy family, be happy with my career, and have a few decent friends and so many diverse personalities I have had the privilege to cross paths with in my life, even if for a brief moment.
As the very last day of the year coincides with my birthday, I am thinking of the fragility of life and how much I appreciate having the privilege of just being here in this world and experiencing the moments as they unfold.
Instead of grandiose goals and achievements, I wish you the next year to appreciate being alive. And if you are fortunate enough to experience the comfort of health, warmth, and people loving you, see if you can share at least a bit of comfort next year with those less fortunate. In your own unique and significant way.
Have a mindful 2023.
Peace.
🖤
