Mama-Come-Lately

Years and years ago, I planned a spelunking (cave exploration) trip with a group of girlfriends. We figured out what clothing and gear we would need, and I recall sleeping bags, so I think camping was on the agenda.

We set off in someone’s car, probably stuffing our faces with questionable snacks, and then we hit traffic. Crazy traffic, a standstill. We ended up turning around because we had lost the light (I think it was fall) and in addition to being bummed out about not having time to go spelunking, nobody wanted to pitch a tent in the dark. I think we may have gone to a bar instead.

Later (this was in the dark ages before smartphones) we found out that the traffic had been caused by a horrific accident. And that it had happened shortly before we would have been traveling that stretch of highway. We talked about how lucky we were, how easily it could have been different.

A similar scenario played out again a few days ago, with a much narrower time margin and much more dire consequences had I been in the wrong place at the wrong time. This time, a traffic delay could have gotten me killed. And it’s made me think: if the difference between being fine and being in danger is just traffic and timing, is it possible to keep yourself safe? Or is safety just an illusion?

I do my best to be aware of my surroundings, take note of anything or anyone that seems weird, make sure I know where the nearest exit is if I’m in a large building. But that level of vigilance wears me out, frankly, and now I’m questioning how much my efforts matter. Also, I’m not interested in living in fear — my energy and time are limited, and I don’t want to waste either of those precious resources.

So I’ll just be over here, sharing a piece of cake with my kid, feeling lucky.