Written from La Quinta Inns and Suites, San Antonio, TX.

When I started on my trip to Fort Jackson, South Carolina to watch my wife graduate from Basic Combat Training, I happened upon an accident that must have occurred less than a minute before I passed. It was 3 AM (I got an early start on a long drive), and I was less than a half hour into my journey, just about to pass into Indiana. There was construction on the road, so two cramped, uneven lanes were surrounded tightly on either side with large concrete barricades. The left lane had a shoulder about four feet wide. I have no idea how it happened, but around a sharp corner I saw an SUV facing perpendicular across the left lane, its front end smashed against the barricade, and smoke was just beginning to rise from the crumpled hood, like Snoop Dogg slowly letting bluntsmoke pour from his mouth. The point is, timing and random circumstance can sort of fuck your mind a little.

I could have been in the left lane and turned the corner, smashing unavoidably into the driver's side of the vehicle. I could have arrived a few moments earlier and been involved in the initial crash. Most importantly, I could have taken the smoky, ominous sight as some sort of, well, omen, and interpreted it as a reason to turn back. Those who know me well enough can trace a clear pattern of promptly justifying inaction, or at least limited action (see: all major life decisions -- or lack thereof -- 2000-2009). The funny thing about the accident is that I viewed it in a wholly different light than I would have guessed. I didn't even realize it until I reflected on it weeks later.

This, me, I, is, am the person who decided to drop a college speech class because I had run out of xanax. The one who allowed a flat bike tire to go unfixed, although I had a new innertube in my closet, so I would have an excuse to turn down a friendly invitation to a miles-long ride for which I had long since lost the shape. I would wake up 40 minutes later than normal and call in sick because "It's going to be one of those days." Any excuse. I mean ANY.

There was a car stopped in front of the SUV and the driver was just stepping out as I passed. I guessed he was more likely part of the cause of the accident than a simple good Samaritan. I arrived in Columbia, SC at 8:30 that evening, driving roughly 18 hours. I didn't think about the accident except to recant it dryly as an interesting tidbit on my journey. But weeks later I thought back. Weeks later means last week, as I was packing and preparing for another long drive, this time to the west, where god calls us. I thought about the accident that started the trip. It was something empowering. This last sentence sounds ridiculous. Maybe not empowering. Affirming. Re-affirming? Something. The opposite of discouraging and frightening. Yes, something like that.

I felt, as I passed luckily, a little more invincible than the moment before. I had barely avoided tragedy, had zoomed passed like a golf ball through an impossibly dense grouping of tree trunks toward the green. A real momentum changer. (Golf is the best I can do when pressed for a sports metaphor.)

This trend of invincibility did not start on the Skyway. And I don't mean to suggest I think I am impervious to harm. I just feel less vulnerable, less afraid, than I used to. This constant fear of failure, pain, death -- heavily informed my decisions for a long, long time.

Drinking at home is safer and less embarrassing than drinking in a bar or at a party. Drinking itself is much easier than facing any social anxiety or . . . emotions that haven't been addressed for years. Criticizing others' work is much more comfy than putting my own up for scrutiny.

But something new has been occurring in my life. Most noticeably in the past 8 months or so. It started with one decision that was totally against my character. I asked someone out on a date. It was, I think, the first time ever. I am not one to scam for pussy or troll for tail or other gross ways to describe trying to get someone to agree to see you in a more intimate social setting. Never asked for a number, never gave one out. I always just sort of reluctantly fell into relationships. Mostly, I just avoided the issue altogether, finding self-loathing and blackouts way more advantageous.

And it was that one decision, the first move in a new direction, that has spurned something all new in my character: a slight diminuition of crippling fear. Since then, making decisions has slowly turned into a more participatory process, rather than having chosen the easy way out and just trying to come up with a good excuse for it. Now, fear is simply a variable, growing smaller with each choice I make for the better.

Now, one may think a good decision would have been to stop and help the passengers in the freshly crumpled SUV, but I'm not Jesus, people. I'm going one day at a time. I need to work up to shit like that. Right now, I'm focused on making people I know happy. Strangers are quite a few good decisions ahead of me.

But why did the car accident add to this feeling? Why does some random circumstance that I had no control over remind me of this new trend of taking control of my life? I guess it's because it made clear to me the change in my thought process. Old me would have at least pulled to the nearest ditch to stop and have a good cry, wondering if I should turn around. But new me didn't even blink. New me had already made the choice long before it arose.

I was on my way to see my wife, the one I asked out on a date. My first good decision. A real momentum changer.