like a good neighbor...

how miserable people can *maybe* love one another (or die trying)

But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Matthew 6:33-34

you’ve got a fast car

I think we forget how fast 60 miles per hour is.

This week I was driving East on the freeway with Sam in the backseat. He had endured an early blood draw and I had rewarded him with waffles and now we were off to start Christmas shopping for David while he wasn’t around. Sam was excited to be out of the house and in on the secret.

As we cruised down the freeway I got into the left lane to pass. Google Maps said I had a good 17 miles before my next turn, so I figured I could pass some of the folks getting off on the innumerable exits to the right.

Mom, we’re winning!
We sure are buddy.
Look how fast we are!
We’re so speedy.

My eyes were fixed on the road when the car in front of me swerved quickly out of the left lane and I was face to face with a giant, black obstruction. I looked right and couldn’t pass, and not knowing what the object was, I did the only thing I thought was right and slammed on my brakes. But I also knew what came next. The white Toyota Highlander behind me did the same, but too late, and hit my bumper hard while I coasted (at a cool 50 mph) into the obstruction that then flew over the median into oncoming traffic.

We both just sat there for a moment on the side of the road. Cars whizzed passed, their drivers rubbernecking to see the damage. I had hit a large garbage can that had somehow escaped into the passing lane and the crunching I had heard had mainly been from the can punching a hole in my front fender.

I checked Sam. He was fine. I was fine. No airbags had been deployed despite the impact. And then I looked behind me. Looking horrified was a woman about my age, eyes shaded by sunglasses. We made eye contact and she mouthed, “Are you ok?” and I shook my head before jumping out to check on her. We agreed to get off the freeway and have the unavoidable insurance conversation in the parking lot of a nearby Fred Meyer.

fender friends at fred meyer

I remember my mom being rear-ended when I was a kid. We had sat on the side of the road in a parking lot and I was in a car seat. I remember her staring straight ahead in shock. I was fine, she had whiplash, and our car was totaled. But luckily today, this was not my story.

I jumped out of the car and met a woman who, with shaky hands, apologized over and over again. I assured her, there was nothing she could have done differently. Neither of us could have changed lanes and I was afraid of hitting a garbage can head on at 60 mph (not that I even knew what it was at the time). I told her my mind had raced—what if I hit it and it had come through my windshield? What if someone had rear-ended her after she had hit me? I looked in the backseat of her car and saw a cow-patterned carseat.

Do you have any other babies with you?
No, I don’t—oh no, do you?
Yes, but he’s fine.

I opened the back door so she could see Sam, who looked more confused than anything. Minutes before while we sat on the freeway, Sam had looked at me and asked if we had crashed. I told him we had.

Are we going to need to tell Daddy?
Yes sweetie, but it’ll be ok. Daddy will understand.

Everyone understood.

I had been rear-ended by an apologetic woman named Tara who was a mom, like me. Her car was much worse off than mine but she waved it off saying she was glad everyone was ok. She kept checking on me. I was fine, I told her over and over again, and said that if I had to be hit by anyone, I was glad it was her. At one point Tara said that maybe at the end of all of this we might actually be friends and I laughed because more wonderfully absurd things have happened, and I just so happen to be a connoisseur of the absurd and the wonderful.

sam being coy, because if you know him, you know he’s an extrovert’s extrovert

meanwhile, in babylon…

Earlier this week my newsfeed lit itself on fire.

Friends, influencers, and companies I follow were giving their hottest of hot takes on the election. They were in mourning, they were enthralled, they were ready to move to Canada, they were sharpening their pitchforks, they were drinking champagne. It was a riot of emotion and no one was listening to one another. Comment sections were doused with gasoline and people were going after one another like surgeons with scalpels to tumors.

It was an emotionally charged time. It still is. I voted and that’s all I could do. It’s all any of us could do. How I voted and how my neighbor voted doesn’t change the fact that I am still going to live across the street from my neighbor. Might as well live at peace with all men as much as possible. Might as well share pie in the summertime. Might as well ask if they wouldn’t mind helping us move that wine barrel downstairs. Might as well attempt a conversation about how loud their music is before calling the cops. Might as well let them know when I’ll be trimming tree branches that could fall into their yard. Might as well look them in the eye and see a person, terrified that you might sue them for everything they’re worth, after they’ve rear-ended you.

I am no saint. My neck is sore and my bumper is bent in half. If I was ever going to meet Tara, I am pissed that this was the way I had to do it. But here we are. I have her number and she knows I’ll have a quote for her on Monday from the body shop. No one got hurt, and even if we had, she was still going to be a person who was just trying to drive down the freeway in an attempt to get wherever she was going. And I was just trying to avoid a bigger crash.

We’re all just trying not to crash into one another. But when we do, what we do next is what matters.

Always,
Emily

P.S. …State Farm is there (you know you were thinking it after you read the title). That said, we have All State, so here’s hoping we’re in good hands ;-)