The Crash Outside Our Home | Choosing a Different Story

All three of us jumped at the horrible sound of a crash coming from outside. A few seconds later, as I was running downstairs, I heard my son Ethan say, "Someone just crashed into my car." Dread filled my body.

Matt was out the door first and at the scene of the accident. The priority was checking on the driver. Our townhome sits on a fairly busy road, and now the two-way street had only one working lane, the crash blocking traffic in both directions.

It took two hours for the police to arrive. Another 90 minutes before the driver's insurance company could dispatch a tow truck. And another hour after that before our own insurance told us an adjuster would need to review photos of the damage and decide on a plan the next day. Almost four hours total, and Matt spent most of it outside with the driver in 90-degree Florida heat, and at one point, pouring rain.

Needless to say, this was not what we had planned for our Sunday. After a disheartening, emotionally hard week for our family, this felt like the old expression: when it rains, it pours. Just one more hard thing added to the fear and uncertainty already circling us.

I knew that falling into self-pity would not be helpful, even though it can be very seductive. Instead, I became very intentional about using my tools and beliefs. I started with curiosity and reflection.

I asked myself: What is the opportunity here? What story am I going to tell about this? What possible goodness can come from this sidetracked day? What can I be grateful for? How could the universe be conspiring on our behalf?

So let me tell you a new story of what happened.

The driver was Bill, an elderly man who needed a little help getting out of his car. Aside from a surface cut on his arm, he was okay.

Gratitude that he wasn't injured. Gratitude that our car was parked and empty.

And gratitude that this man, having just made a mistake and shaken from being in an accident, wasn't met with screaming, blame,  or anger. He was met by Matt, who was very calm and kind.

We ended up spending hours with Bill. He was unsteady on his feet, and the sun was beating down, so Matt helped him over to our townhome and held onto him as he gingerly climbed the two steps up to our porch, to a chair, out of the sun and then the rain. We brought him water, an umbrella,  and offered him paper and a pencil to write things down when he was on the phone with insurance. 

We never expected it would be so long. But in that time, Matt learned where Bill was from, what he did before he retired, and the side job he still keeps now. When we got word the tow truck was 40 minutes out, he called a young friend he works with, who dropped everything to come get him. I felt relieved and grateful that Bill had someone to call and that person was there to help. 

Bill said the crash happened because a cat had run across the road. If that's true, I'm grateful someone's beloved fur baby wasn't hurt. Having observed Bill that day, my intuition told me that he may not longer have the reflexes to be safely driving anymore, and that maybe this was the wake-up call, arriving in a way that hurt no one.

Before bed, a thought landed: what if the damage to Ethan's car is more than it's worth? What if they total it? What if they cut us a check? Ethan is moving to NYC in three months and won't need the car much longer. But we could absolutely use the money right now, and the reimbursement on the car insurance we'd just paid 5 days ago.  We could share a car for the last few months. 

This could actually be a blessing.

That's when everything in my body shifted.

I'm still not sure that's how it plays out. But the next morning, when the tow truck came, the insurance company floated that very possibility on their own.

And when I watched the tow truck finally pull away with the car on it, I knew it might be the last time I ever saw it. It's Ethan's now, but it was mine first, and I loved that car.  Seeing it disappear, I remembered who I was when I bought it. It was a season of my life when I felt very empowered and courageous, and that reminded me of what I'm still capable of now. I realized it was the end of an era, and maybe the start of a new one, driving off in the same direction.

Here's what I keep coming back to, and what I hope you carry with you the next time it pours:

Notice the story you're about to tell. The facts of a hard day are fixed. The meaning isn't. "When it rains, it pours" and "the universe is conspiring on my behalf" can both be true of the exact same afternoon. You get to choose which one you rehearse.

Let the interruption show you who you are. Bill didn't need our anger; he needed our patience and our kindness.  The accident didn't just happen to us; it gave us a few hours to be the kind of people we want to be. The hard thing and the good thing were the same thing.

Stay curious a little longer than feels natural. The full meaning of a bad Sunday doesn't always show up by bedtime. Sometimes it takes a night's sleep, or a phone call the next morning, before the shape of what actually happened comes into view. I didn't expect a crashed-up car pulling away to hand me back a memory of who I used to be, and proof of what I'm still capable of becoming. Don't close the story too early. You might miss the ending that matters most.

The car is still just a car. But I got to spend an afternoon watching Matt’s calm and leadership show up as kindness for a shaken-up older man, and canceled Sunday plans turned into a question I'm still sitting with, about who I was, who I am, and who I'm becoming.

Expect miracles even in the middle of a crash. 

UPDATE... This morning, after this blog was already set to post, the insurance company considered our car a total loss. We were cut a check that was bigger than we expected, but exactly what was needed. I was overcome with gratitude, celebration, and full-body chills, because the exact wish I'd imagined the night of the accident had actually happened but was even better. It all feels like magic.  The kind of magic that's been quietly conspiring on our behalf the whole time, even in the pouring rain.