Question 204 of 365: When do we almost die?

Question 204 of 365: When do we almost die?

rhizoming the vanishing lines . .
Image by jef safi via Flickr

It strikes me that we almost die far more often than we actually do.

Most of the days that I drive to work I think about what it would be like if I made an enormous right turn into oncoming traffic or into the highway median. I don’t think that this is morbid or abnormal, rather I believe that it is a healthy part of me staying alive. If I can envision the crumpled minivan on the side of the road, I can avoid it . If I can see exactly how it would flip and wrap around a tree, I know that my family is safe. I can almost die in my head hundreds of times.

I live in a place that feels safe. The only people I see outside in the neighborhood are kids and parents, playing with toys and basketballs and bicycles. I see people walking and running, too. I see tended yards, except for mine. I see people wave. I’m sure that all of this seeming safety is an illusion, but I take it because it keeps me almost dead, rather than entirely dead much more often.

I am passive when it comes to confrontation. I would take pretty much any route there is to avoid a fight. I stay alive tyhrough this process. To put it another way: I almost die in every conversation, but somehow I manage to avoid it. It’s not to say that I deal with a lot of violent people, but anything can become a fight. Anything.

Whether by accident or intentional behavior, I have managed to stay alive since I was born. It is a streak that is unmatched by anyone younger than me. There are so many things that could kill me, but so far I have managed to escape each one. Sickness hasn’t done it, nor has being impaled on anything overly sharp. I don’t intend on being beaten to death or splattering to the grown after a wrongly orchestrated bungee jump. All of these things will be almost deaths for me and I will treasure them. For as long as they remain as such, I don’t have anything to worry about.

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