On Saturday night, I was at a red light, when a car slammed into mine. My car shook; I was jolted forward; and I immediately felt pain in my lower back. I felt disoriented, not understanding immediately that my car had been hit, because it seemed so incredulous to be hit by a car at a red light. Then I realized that yes, in fact, my car had been rear-ended.
I looked to my right and left and saw two cars sitting near mine. I wanted to get out and ask the drivers to give me their names and numbers, to serve as witnesses, but as I was thinking about doing so, the light turned green, and they took off. I was disappointed that nobody pulled over and offered to serve as a witness, when I have done so on multiple occasions for others.
The driver behind me must be drunk, I reasoned. I tried calling the police, but my phone was not working. I was shaking and very upset, and it was hard to focus properly on understanding why the phone was not working and figuring out how to get it to work. (Note to self: Smart phones suck when your hands are not steady. I miss my Dumb Phone.)
I decided to get out of the car and get the license plate of the car that had hit mine. I really wanted to scream at the driver, “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! WHO THE FUCK HITS A CAR AT A RED LIGHT?!” but restrained myself.
Two young women were in the car, each holding cell phones. “It was just a tap, and there is no scratch,” the driver said, obviously wanting me to tell her all was well and wave her off. “I don’t care about the car,” I said. As I pivoted and headed to the back of her car, to get her license, I could not help but blurt out, “What the fuck.” I was so pissed off by her negligence. I have been-there-done-that with car crashes, and I know the hell they can catapult me into. It was all so unnecessary. A red light! There was no excuse.
I kept trying to make the phone work, this time to call myself and leave a message with the license number, because my Smart Phone turns out not to be as smart as it thinks – needing some additional something or other to take photos. Still I could not get the damn phone to work.
I headed back to my car to get a pen and paper, or at least to try and make my phone work in the warmth of my car, being that it was a freezing cold night (by California standards at least). I was anxious that the driver might take off before I recorded her license plate information. Again, as I passed, the woman said, “It was just a tap; there were no scratches; we took pictures.” “I don’t care about the car,” I repeated.
I really didn’t. I know how these things go. Even when you don’t feel anything at the scene of a car crash, you can end up in shit pain the next day. I was already in pain from the impact of the crash, which did not bode well. As I knew from three previous car crashes I had been in during the course of my life, none of which were my fault, the impact of a car crash could last for years and fuck up your life in all kinds of ways that were unforeseeable.
I found a pen and paper in the car and scribbled down the license number. Then, miraculously, I got the damn phone to work – not sure how, just kept pressing shit until I was able to dial successfully – and called the police. I reported the incident and asked for the police to come. They asked if an ambulance was needed. I said, “No, but I think the driver is drunk, and I’d like a police to come and check it out.” “Why do you think the driver is drunk?” the representative asked. “Because she hit me at a red light,” I reminded the representative. “Who the hell would do that if they were not drunk?” The representative promised to send someone.
I guess she could have been texting or talking on her cell phone, but what can I say. I’m Old School like that.
I went back to Crash Lady’s car. In retrospect, I find it interesting that she did not, ever, not once, throughout this ordeal, get out of her car, but rather, sat inside its warmth and comfort the whole time, as I went back and forth between our cars.
At any rate, she said she was not trying to screw me over and flee from the scene, but she would really like to pull over to the Shell station at the corner, being that we were in the middle of a few lanes of traffic. She emphasized again that she was not trying to bolt. Being that I had been in a hit-and-run before, it was a leap of faith to move the cars over, but I figured that I already had her license, and I agreed.
When we got to the Shell station, I got out my driver’s license and registration, then went to Crash Lady’s car, to get the same from her. That’s when I then noticed that the car was a shiny white BMW – from 2011, I confirmed by her registration, owned by a construction company in her family name. Spoiled rich white girl, I thought to myself.
Again, she told me that the car crash was “just a tap” with no scratches, and that she and her friend had taken pictures of my bumper.
How many times did I have to tell this woman that I did not give a fuck about the car? I guess someone who never experienced chronic pain, specifically, as triggered by a car crash, could not possibly understand the trauma and anxiety of the whole ordeal. I was concerned about being in shit pain; having difficulty sleeping as a result; being afraid to drive again; losing work hours at a critical time of my company’s growth; spending hours and hours icing my back, which I hate doing because it leaves me freezing; and so on. I still had not even bothered to glance at the bumper.
When I finally did look at the bumper – after stretching my back, practicing gratitudes, calling my mom, and calling a friend — I saw all kinds of scratches, so the “no scratches” refrain was bullshit. I took photos with some Kodak one-time camera sitting in my glove compartment. (Have I mentioned being Old School?)
One very large scratch, which at first glance seemed to be the size of a license plate, was not familiar to me and very possibly was caused by the impact of the crash. I still, however, have not taken the time to look closely at my bumper and distinguish which scratches were there before and which were from this incident. I also still do not particularly give a fuck. I have been singularly concerned about the impact on my body and life. (More on that in another post.)
After about 20 minutes or so, I called the police again. They assured me that they were on their way but that there were numerous calls ahead. I went back to Crash Lady’s car, to let her know. She asked about leaving. I told her that the police were on their way. “Oh they won’t come,” she said. “Yes they will,” I responded. “I just called, and they said they were on their way.” “No, they won’t come,” she said with certainty. “Trust me, I’ve been in a lot of situations like this with police, and they never show up.”
I paused, surprised. Does she go around hitting people all over town? “Charming,” I replied.
I said that I would really appreciate her sticking around for the police, and to her credit, she agreed. I went back to my car. Already I could feel the pain spreading to my upper back, between my shoulder blades. Fucking great. I continued stretching my back and repeating gratitudes. Then I warmed my ass up inside my car.
At some point before the police came, I approached Crash Lady and asked her what had happened. I was surprised by her reply: She claimed that the light was green and that my car was just stalled there, while everyone else was driving by. What?! She also claimed that she released her foot from the brake and “just tapped” my car. I told her that the light was red and that it was not just a tap, but rather, that her car had slammed into mine. She argued the opposite. Right then, the police showed up.
I approached the officer, who asked what had happened. I recounted the events for him and told him that I thought the driver might be drunk, given that she had hit my car at a red light. The officer told me to go back to my car, which I did, watching from the side view mirror.
He spoke with Crash Lady but did not take have her walk a line, or as far as I could tell, have her do a breathalyzer test. Still, when he came to my car, he advised me that she was not “inebriated.” He told me that he would run her license number and give me all the information I needed to file a claim. He also told me that “these kinds of crashes are so common” that the police do not file reports. (Seriously? People slam into each other at red lights all the time?) There would, however, be a record of the call, he assured me.
Before the police left, I approached Crash Lady and asked if I could speak with her. She agreed. First, I thanked her for sticking around. I really appreciated that, I said. She said “of course” and then profusely apologized for having hit my car. That was actually the second thing I had wanted to say to her: I had wanted to ask for an apology, because as I was sitting in my car, I realized that while Crash Lady was perfectly charming and polite, she had never apologized. Had I slammed my car into someone else’s at a red light, I would have been mortified and gushed with apologies.
It felt really good that I didn’t need to ask Crash Lady for the apology (although I did mention that was the second thing I was going to say, as she had not apologized up until then).
Next, I told Crash Lady that she is in her early 20s, and so for her, this incident may feel like nothing, but that I am 44 and the survivor of a hit-and-run, head-on car collision, and so for me, the incident was a really big deal. Crash Lady said that I am right and that she did not mean to dismiss what had happened, that it is a big deal. I really appreciated that acknowledgement too.
Lastly, I said, “In the future, please, please do not start driving your car if the car in front of you is not moving.” “Yes,” she said, nodding her head in agreement. “I won’t. Thank you.” Because seriously, even if my car had been stalled due to some mechanical failure or whatever, the solution is not to drive into my trunk, but rather to change lanes or – for the obnoxious and lazy out there – to honk the horn and yell at me to get the fuck out of the way.
All in all, I had a hard time hating Crash Lady, though I would have liked to. She was a human being who made a mistake – hopefully one she will not make again.
As I seethed with anger over the coming 24 hours, I tried to access compassion for Crash Lady. In doing so, I recalled that when I was 20, I was in the first or second of what is now five total car crashes in my life (one in a taxi when I was in college) – the 1990 incident being the only one that was my fault. In that situation, I was with my BFF, driving very slowly, about 5 mph, looking for parking. We had just driven from New York to Washington DC, to attend some lobbying activity or another. It was late at night and dark; there did not seem to be any available parking spaces; and my friend and I were laser focused on trying to find one.
Suddenly, the nose of my car was smack up against the side of someone else’s car. Neither my friend nor I knew how that had happened, but regardless, I jumped out of the car and took full responsibility, apologizing for the incident and explaining that my friend and I had been singularly focused on looking for parking. The guy was perfectly friendly and understanding, and we all had a good laugh out of the whole thing. Being young, nubile 18 and 20 year olds, respectively, that was extent of the incident for my friend and me – no neck pain, no back aches, nothing.
Funny enough, when my friend and I returned the rental car in New York, we were advised that the other driver had claimed we were both drunk. “What?!” we shouted in unison, looking at each other with our jaws dropped. Neither of us had ever drunk so much as a beer in our entire lives, save for a sip of wine at Jewish ceremonial events. “Our friends always give us shit for never drinking!” my friend shared with the rental car representative. “That’s crazy that he would claim something like that!” We collectively decided that the driver must have wanted to milk the rental car company for money.
At any rate, I guess it comes down to this: shit happens. Even the most conscientious and best-intentioned among us can screw up occasionally.
Writing this blog post is tremendously healing for me in releasing the anger and distress. Truly, that woman was a decent human being. She had integrity for sticking around, and she was cooperative all the way through. Remembering an incident when I was at fault and young enough to not feel the impact other than a 2-second bump, I actually can feel love for this woman.
I have endured a lot of trauma in my life, at the hands of others. It makes me see red. Many people are going through life blindly, not only wrecking havoc on other people’s lives, but not taking accountability for their actions; not caring; and even going so far as to dismiss and ridicule those they have harmed. And yet, all of that is outside my control.
I will write a separate blog post about the impact this car crash has had on my life so far, but here’s something I’ll share at this time:
Yesterday I needed to get in my car, to drive across town for an appointment. I was shaking for 30 minutes straight, afraid of getting into the car. But I recommitted to something I had decided shortly after the car crash: I will go boldly out onto the roads. Yes it is out of my hands — who will do what. But rather than let that paralyze and terrify me, as it has done in the past, I will use that knowledge to make me fearless. If we cannot control circumstances, why worry about them? It’s a bloody waste of time.
I am an amazing driver. I pay keen attention to what is going on all around me; I anticipate the moves of drivers and proactively respond (seriously, I can tell exactly what moves someone is going to do – I feel the energy and intention); and I drive safely, not only keeping a fat space between the driver in front and me, but also compensating for tailgaters behind me – leaving even more space in front of my car, in case I have to stop suddenly. That is all I have control over. I have started a practice of praying to angels and Gd/dess before I start driving, and I will continue doing that. And those things are all I can do, while still actively participating in life.
At the end of the day, fate is out of my hands. In 1997, I was in a car crash that turned my life upside down. I had specifically gone down a side street to avoid the crazy driving of people on the main road. And that is when a driver came into my lane, crashed into my car, continued driving into my car all the way down the side of my car, then took off into the night.
If the Universe wants to kick your ass, it will find you and do so.
In another post, I’ll share my thinking about Gd’s will, free will, and fate. Long story short, there are a whole lot of us on this planet and a whole lot of factors involved in the circumstances of our lives. I cannot control someone else’s behavior. I only can control mine. (Even that has limitations.)
So I choose to bask in the knowledge and glory of who I am, what I do, and how I walk (and drive) through the world. I will focus on what I can do, and I will do it. I will release all the uglies of other people’s attitudes and behaviors and focus on constantly improving my own.
There seems to be an inherent conflict between activism and acceptance, but that’s too big of an issue to get into now. I do believe we have a whole buttload more power than most people acknowledge or tap into, and when we activate that power, it engages us in ways that may compromise our sense of peace. But again, another issue for another time.
Meanwhile, I know there will be New Agey types out there who will say, after reading this post, that this car crash obviously happened for a reason, that I was supposed to learn this lesson, blah blah blah. I disagree. Like, vehemently. To get a better sense of why, you can read some of my blog posts on fate, luck, and Law of Attraction.
Among other things, it’s not that I’ve had an aha/seen the light moment that is revolutionizing my life, but rather that I am recommitting to principles and orientations that I have been cultivating over the years – perhaps more deeply and solidly this time.
In addition, there are people who end up dead, deformed, and otherwise completely ruined as a result of car crashes and other harmful situations in life. I do not believe that fucked up shit happens as a result of the benevolent universe bestowing upon us an opportunity to learn. Instead, I believe that shit happens, period (as indicated above) and that we have two choices: do the best we can in growing and learning and making something positive out of the situation, or get destroyed by it.
In addition, I think it’s important to recognize the difference in circumstances that may contribute to someone’s ability to respond positively in situations. Those in poverty; those who are severely disabled; those who are in closed systems with no hope of escape have far less resources available than those with money; those who are able-bodied; and those living in countries that, at least in the books, are free.
As I have said in my blog before, somewhere along my journey living with and healing from chronic pain, I believe the objectives are to love ourselves, identify and utilize all the resources at our disposal, and focus on healing and transformation – to the best of our abilities, every day of our lives.
The rest, as they say, is commentary.
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