You think you have time.
Trouble is, you think you have time.
We humans always think we have time. Constantly leaving the things we long to do for tomorrow, as if it’s guaranteed. Living for someday, only to find it never arrives. Quick to forget "[we] can leave life right now" and should "let that determine what [we] do, and say, and think." (Marcus Aurelius).
Which is why I dedicate today to the day I nearly left.
It was another summer night spent in the countryside of small-town Iowa. By the time we were ready to skedaddle, the sun had long since set and there was little light left in the sky. Best friend in the passenger, I took to the dirt roads.
I'd no clue how to get home, so I was to tail another who would lead the way. Problem was, the dust he kicked up effectively disabled my headlights. The only thing keeping me on track was the occasional red glow from his tail lights. Even still, we were care-free cruising at a cool 30 mph.
But we were closing in on a T-intersection that would change that. I had lost sight of the car I'd been following, but I kept my pace even as dust continued to cloud my vision. It wasn't until we were about 50 feet away from the T that I saw it: right and left were about to be the only options; to go straight was to drive headlong into a 7-foot ditch. As soon as I hit the brakes and began to slide, I knew the ditch was our destiny.
Luckily, the car found just enough traction to turn parallel to the ditch as momentum moved us. When we hit the edge, the car popped into the air and started to flip.
The last thing I remember was being suspended, upside down and powerless. (Neither of us were wearing seatbelts.) Then it all went black, a few flashes of flying glass and being tossed like a ragdoll all that remains.
We awoke upside down in the ditch to find we had swapped places midair (him, to the driver side and me, to the passenger). Yet the only price we paid was two shards of glass lodged in a left arm (me) and a concussion (him).
So now you know, I've no business being here. But for as long as I am, I hope to remember: you can leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say. And above all, let that determine how you love.