The day I should have died
I actually consider myself to have two birthdays. One was my natural birthday. The other is December 19, 1981. What was so special about that date? That was the day that I - by all the laws of physics and probability - should have died. But as fate had it, I did not die, and that day marked the beginning of a new life.
What happened then? I'll only give a cursory description (see cut). Suffice it to say here that I had a 'close call' while driving on the westbound Santa Monica Freeway in L.A. around 7:35PM approaching the Overland Ave. offramp. Of course, we all have close calls now and then. What made this one particularly noteworthy, however, was the seeming physical impossibility that the accident didn't happen.
That evening, in front of me in my lane, there was a slow VW van I wanted to pass. I couldn't pass on the left because there was another slow car in the fast lane. So I made a move to pass the van on the right. Trouble was, there was another slow car in the #3 lane now ahead of me that was just about 1/2 of a car-length in front of the van, and I floored the accelerator so that my car was mere inches away from that car's rear bumper. When I made my move to cut in front of the van, I saw that the van's front bumper was still just even with my left rear tire; I was going to cut into that lane despite the fact that I could clearly see that there wasn't enough room for my car to make it, but I did it anyway. I still don't know exactly how the collision was avoided. The only thing I can think of is that the driver of the van must have braked sharply when he saw me cutting in. But I cut in so fast and unexpectedly - I mean, no one's reaction time is that good. Even if the other driver did brake hard, tho, considering the distances involved, I couldn't have missed hitting the van by more than a centimeter.
And thank goodness, too, because if I'd clipped the front of that van, my Mustang would have flipped over sideways and tumbled going 60 miles an hour, and with no shoulder harness or airbag, that meant certain death. Even worse, I probably would have killed the people in the van, and caused a horrible chain reaction crash which, given how congested the freeway was at the time, could easily have taken out a dozen cars and resulted in multiple fatalities and serious injuries.
What I did was so grievously wrong, and so assuredly deadly that I know for a certainty that, from that day 'til this, I have lived my life on borrowed time. I realized the instant after the lane change was over what a stupid, Stupid, STUPID fucking thing I had just done. I not only almost killed myself, I almost ended or ruined the lives of at least a score of innocent people. And for what? So I could get to my destination maybe a minute or two sooner than I otherwise would have.
If I'd died at 27, well, that probably would have killed my parents, too. And when I think that it all could have ended for me then... that I never would have seen the redwood coast, never found my wild otters, never met any of my present friends - and that all I've done since, all I've become, and all of the miraculous things that I've experienced in the last 20+ years... just to think that I came >this close< to forfeiting all that and the whole rest of my life just for the sake of avoiding a mere minute or two of delay on a freeway for no good reason one dark December evening... oh God, I'm weeping... I can't help it. Even to this day, I can't forgive myself for doing such a reckless, foolish thing.
My friends, please. Driving is not a race. Driving is about getting from Point A to Point B without turning yourself into a heap of bloody gristle on the pavement. And don't put too much trust in mere machinery. Circumstances are unpredictable, and the laws of physics are utterly merciless. If you feel that you have a destiny to fulfill - like I did, and still do - don't throw your life away for the sake of a mere moment's expediency. Slow down. Think. Relax. And LIVE...
What happened then? I'll only give a cursory description (see cut). Suffice it to say here that I had a 'close call' while driving on the westbound Santa Monica Freeway in L.A. around 7:35PM approaching the Overland Ave. offramp. Of course, we all have close calls now and then. What made this one particularly noteworthy, however, was the seeming physical impossibility that the accident didn't happen.
That evening, in front of me in my lane, there was a slow VW van I wanted to pass. I couldn't pass on the left because there was another slow car in the fast lane. So I made a move to pass the van on the right. Trouble was, there was another slow car in the #3 lane now ahead of me that was just about 1/2 of a car-length in front of the van, and I floored the accelerator so that my car was mere inches away from that car's rear bumper. When I made my move to cut in front of the van, I saw that the van's front bumper was still just even with my left rear tire; I was going to cut into that lane despite the fact that I could clearly see that there wasn't enough room for my car to make it, but I did it anyway. I still don't know exactly how the collision was avoided. The only thing I can think of is that the driver of the van must have braked sharply when he saw me cutting in. But I cut in so fast and unexpectedly - I mean, no one's reaction time is that good. Even if the other driver did brake hard, tho, considering the distances involved, I couldn't have missed hitting the van by more than a centimeter.
And thank goodness, too, because if I'd clipped the front of that van, my Mustang would have flipped over sideways and tumbled going 60 miles an hour, and with no shoulder harness or airbag, that meant certain death. Even worse, I probably would have killed the people in the van, and caused a horrible chain reaction crash which, given how congested the freeway was at the time, could easily have taken out a dozen cars and resulted in multiple fatalities and serious injuries.
What I did was so grievously wrong, and so assuredly deadly that I know for a certainty that, from that day 'til this, I have lived my life on borrowed time. I realized the instant after the lane change was over what a stupid, Stupid, STUPID fucking thing I had just done. I not only almost killed myself, I almost ended or ruined the lives of at least a score of innocent people. And for what? So I could get to my destination maybe a minute or two sooner than I otherwise would have.
If I'd died at 27, well, that probably would have killed my parents, too. And when I think that it all could have ended for me then... that I never would have seen the redwood coast, never found my wild otters, never met any of my present friends - and that all I've done since, all I've become, and all of the miraculous things that I've experienced in the last 20+ years... just to think that I came >this close< to forfeiting all that and the whole rest of my life just for the sake of avoiding a mere minute or two of delay on a freeway for no good reason one dark December evening... oh God, I'm weeping... I can't help it. Even to this day, I can't forgive myself for doing such a reckless, foolish thing.
My friends, please. Driving is not a race. Driving is about getting from Point A to Point B without turning yourself into a heap of bloody gristle on the pavement. And don't put too much trust in mere machinery. Circumstances are unpredictable, and the laws of physics are utterly merciless. If you feel that you have a destiny to fulfill - like I did, and still do - don't throw your life away for the sake of a mere moment's expediency. Slow down. Think. Relax. And LIVE...