Because It Kills You

March 15th, 2023

Any ride you survive was worth taking; eventually you’ll take one you don’t.

If you’re a normal human who does regular person things (jealous!), you probably don’t read everything I post (and if you’re a weirdo who does, okay, I see you, too). So if you missed it: back at the beginning of January, my car was stolen. It was a bummer, 0/10, don’t recommend. It was recovered a few days later, but repairs were required, and those fixes needed time.

That turned into a two-month-long era that mostly sucked as far as transportation goes, but was sweet in the help I received by the people around me, mostly my dear family and co-workers.

It was the anxiety and uncertainty and unexpected dread and disquietude that came roaring back that was harder to bandage.

Some days it kind of kills me.

Last Tuesday, my car was ready to pick up. A minute or two after driving off the lot, I knew something was seriously wrong; for one, on a sunny, dry day, my icy hazard light kept flashing at me. After two very perilous trips on the freeway, I returned it to the garage, where they confirmed my fear:

My car was trying to kill me.

They didn’t frame it like that (something about bedside manner), but there was something very wrong with my front axis, and they apologized for what must have been a terrifying driving experience.

Twenty-four hours ago, I got my car back yet again. It drives a lot better and is far less murdery. About half a mile after leaving my home yesterday, I was almost hit by a bus exiting off the freeway.

Everything is trying to kill me.

The old me was resigned to this fact. I accepted it and, perversely, I participated in it.

But the way I see it has changed; at first, little by little, and then radically, all at once.

Life is trying to kill me. It’s trying to kill you, too. And it’s clever and ingenious and unique in how it goes about it, by learning what will best kill us, individually.

Life will stalk you through the woods, calmly walking as you run away, bleary-eyed and screaming. It will lock you in dark rooms without windows, it will hide in your closet, it will call you in the middle of the night until you answer.

What kills you will be tailored to you, just like it’s tailored to me.

Stolen cars and lost jobs and bad dreams and worse genes and dead parents.

Stab, stab, stab.

I used to accept life in spite of the fact that it is constantly trying to kill me.

But that isn’t right. It isn’t a way to live.

You love life because it kills you.

When you remember that at any moment life could finally succeed in its ultimate goal, you stay alert; present; in the moment.

You never forget who you love, what you believe, and why you’re here.

You embrace the fact that at some near point in time, you will have nothing; and you realize just how much you have, right here, right in front of you now.

Life will kill you. It isn’t a question.

The only question is what you’re going to do with it before it does.

Published by dennisvogen

I'm me, of course. Or am I?

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