I don’t go down easy.
(Ahem…LADIES.)
By that I mean, I don’t get sick that often, and thankfully *knocks on wood table so hard I break knuckle* my bones and everything are unbroken and unscathed.
But this Monday has me rethinking all that.
First, I was driving up to a 6-way stop sign.
City planners who just read this collectively felt a twinge of angina.
the widowmaker
It’s literally the worst idea ever. 4-way stop signs are tough enough as it is, making sure that each side goes in-turn and evenly.
Humans weren’t at all meant to meet at an intersection shaped like an asterisk.
You just kind of have to go when the person next to you goes. Oh yeah, btw, it’s 4 lanes on each side and there’s no defined lane markers (added thrill!)
I didn’t have a buddy vehicle to cross this enormous hexagon with, so I waited until it was my turn and the person across went, checking copiously around me to make sure everyone else stayed put. A pickup truck was ahead of me and had a huge wooden plank coming out of the bed, and the thought of that thing flying through my windshield if I got too close flashed through my head as I anticipated how I’d have to duck. I normally don’t think about Final-Destination-type of scenarios and got creeped out so I let them go way ahead and kept my distance.
Nearing halfway through what felt like the Atacama Desert, I spot a new BMW 6 speeding at me, leaving its companion vehicle at the intersection. The car was probably going at least 45-50 mph and clearly didn’t stop at the sign whatsoever.
At this point your brain goes into a weird mode of fight or flight. Do I try to speed through and hope that physics saves me? Or do I hit the brakes and hope to GAWD they do too?
I opted for the latter and I was 90% positive we would hit. Things flew off my seats and out of consoles and I mashed my shoe onto the brake pedal. The convertible driver was not slowing down NEARLY fast enough. Despite the speed reduction the front of their car would be destroyed and I’d have severe tire and suspension damage from being hit at a diagonal.
By some miracle, we didn’t hit.
I stared directly at the other driver, some crazy woman in a weave, who just stared. No apology, no sheepish grin, no wave, just a mugshot stare.
I yelled as I laid on the horn but at least there was comfort in knowing I lived to see another day.
It took at least another mile and a half for my blood pressure to return to normal as my chest was pained from whatever chemicals flooded through it to brace for impact.
YOLO comes to mind. I won YOLO because I was still living and wasn’t wheeled away from that intersection in a stretcher.
I hate that YOLO has been appropriated from “taking advantage of every day, getting the most out of it, having more appreciation for friends and family around you because this may be the last time you see them” to “let’s get fucked UPPPPPP”.
In fact, the more often someone says YOLO the less they act like they actually live once. Endangering your life by getting crossfaded on the daily is not living—it’s acting like you live twice or thrice or whatever the title of that James Bond movie was.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with doing that stuff though. Drink, smoke, do whatever—but don’t spend more of your life in an altered state than not.
The second dice roll today came in the form of dinner.
I walked into Whole Foods craving salmon. I was in a brain food mood and dammit, salmon’s the best.
Unfortunately they were out, so I opted for a pre-made turkey/avocado/bacon/spinach sandwich. If you haven’t tried it, it tastes absolutely freakin’ amazing and I don’t understand how anyone could enjoy a plain ol BLT after having this.
I bought it, starvingly tore it open and began to om-nom as I walked out.
Something didn’t taste right.
It tasted—old. Stale. Musty.
I looked down and noticed the avocado and the turkey had both turned black and splotchy.
GREAT, I thought. I survived a near-accident today only to get severe food poisoning.
Luckily I was close to UCLA Medical so I could crawl there if necessary, vomiting and shitting my way in (which I think is how Mischa Barton gets into clubs these days).
I went back in and they quickly and kindly replaced it with a fresh one.
I wondered: we gamble with our lives so much every day. Getting out of bed. Getting in the shower. Walking out the front door.
But before I descend into an agoraphobic’s fevered anxiety wet dream—it’s worth noticing that yes, anything could happen at any time and we or the people around us could be gone in the blink of a lazy eye (faster than a normal blink!)
We can’t let that concept cripple us. We can only let it empower us.
Yes, you only live once.
So make the most of it. Don’t wait to reconnect with someone tomorrow because they might not have a tomorrow. Don’t wait to apologize to someone later because there might not be a later.
YOLO means “get off your ass and do it now—before it’s too late”.
Start your book. Call your mother. Text your ex-friend. Save for your vacation. Lift a weight.
Or, just sit on your ass and get hammered/stoned/whatever.
Just know you’re not living once.
You’re not living at all.
