Reflecting | by Samer Farha
Memorial Day is always a day of reflection and remembrance. I’ve not had any relatives killed in action, but I know plenty of people who have served. And any trip to Arlington National Cemetery can only bring thoughtful reflection to mind.
But there is one particular Memorial Day that I happen to be reflecting on, tonight. Twelve years ago, on Memorial Day 1997, I was driving on one of my favorite winding roads around 1:30 am. I was coming up on a sharp curve, going the speed limit, when I noticed lights from an oncoming car. I went to dim my brights, and in the process didn’t control my car well through the turn.
The front right wheel went off the road, quickly followed by the whole car. If I close my eyes, I can still remember every moment going by in slow motion. The realization that something was terribly wrong, followed by the gut wrenching knowledge that I was about to die, followed, not quickly enough, by the knowledge that I had survived. How do I get out of a car now resting on the driver’s side door? How do I get home? How do I explain this to the insurance company? And then, the panic when I smelled the burning and felt the cold liquid along my leg.
It all turned out okay: The burning smell came from hair on my arm, singed by the airbag; the liquid was not gasoline, but my diet coke; the police made sure I got close enough to town, and a friend made sure I got home. I had minor injuries, and even went in to work a few hours later.
But while the physical and monetary distress only lasted a few weeks, the emotional turmoil was great. At times, I described the experience as life changing, recommending everyone “has to experience something like this, once.” I stand by those words.
In many ways, the man I was before the accident, and the man I am now, are the same. Troubled in one way or the other about relationships, about my weight, about what I was doing in life, and yet, I wasn’t doing anything about any of it. The accident changed everything.
After the accident, though, every moment became precious. You just don’t know when you will die. It’s both a scary thought and very freeing, at the same time. Caution can be thrown to the wind, for the scary things are just not as scary as dying in a turned over exploded car. Carpe diem became more than a feel good motto — it became a way of life.
I did the things I was terribly scared of doing. It cost me a lot in terms of friendships and emotional pain down the road, and I might not have done the those things in the best possible way. I hope, like all things we do well or poorly, I’ve learned from that behavior.
I’m turning forty years old this year. Almost since my birthday last year, I’ve been thinking about the past and the future. I never thought I’d live to see 40, and I might still not. When I was a kid, 30 was unthinkable. When I was 30, 40 still seemed so far away. Forty is now knocking, and I’ve reverted to being the guy I was at 27.
For my 365 project, I had wanted to take a picture at the site of the accident. But I didn’t plan right, and didn’t have the time to do it before the light faded. I find myself, after a stellar year of travel and making new friends, missing old friends and despising sitting on my sofa because I’m feeling lazy.
I need some motivation in my life. There are too many projects, from collaborative blogs to photography, from weight loss to cooking, from friends to lovers, that I let slide for too long. I feel like a car that needs a tune up, an overhaul, a bit of work.
I forget, sometimes, how much fun I can have if I just seize the day. Do what I want, regardless of who wants to come, regardless of what’s on TV. Stop watching Top Gear and get out and get into top gear.
I think that’s good advice, mid-life crisis or not.
