Death becomes us. If it isn't today on the mountain, it will be on the drive back; or thirty years down the road from a heart attack; or maybe, if we're really lucky, it'll happen sixty years from now in our sleep with loving family members nearby.
How could you do this? Isn't it scary? Yes and no. I don't think I've ever experienced true fear before Friday night. I remember the accident. Or rather, I remember hearing a bloodcurdling scream, and hazily trying to figure out where it was coming from, until I realized that I was the one screaming. The elk jumped in front of my truck while I was driving at sixty miles per hour. I hit it dead on. The airbags went off and I pulled over. I could not open the driver's side door, because the hood was pushed into the hinge. At the time I did not know that. I was in complete panic and wanted to get myself and Ollie out as soon as possible, I didn't know if the truck was leaking gas and would be a fire hazard. Trying to force open a car door that won't budge is horrifying. It was dark, I had no cell reception, and there were no other cars on the road.
In every practice scenario that I've worked through for first responder training or incident management, we discuss panic. We talk about it in a clinical, removed way. Then we are given our prompts, some people leave to get moulage and then we all play save-the-day, or, gracefully-deal-with-fake-tragedy.
My truck is totaled. With it are a lot of memories. Five years of hauling furniture and paint for theatre and film-- of learning to make my own in the art scene. Moving furniture across town from apartment, to apartment, to house-- and the memories of all the lives lived in those spaces, the relationships that blossomed and died in those times. Early morning drives to the trailhead. Weekend camping trips. A bad accident in 2014 that's left me with a fear of driving and occasional panic attacks. A joyful month-long roadtrip up the Pacific coast with my friend Cassie. A drive out to Idaho with Ben. Filling the truck bed with soil to make plants grow in the new house.
My fear of driving isn't something I talk much about, because I don't like exposing weakness to the world. My two front teeth are fake. I was hit by an SUV while riding my bike back in college. Spend a night in the ER alone and in shock and you're not going to have a good time. Driving home from work, when I was working 80 hour weeks in theatre, I fell asleep. Understandable, I'd been working nonstop and had five techs in the last six weeks (translation: no sleep). I drifted under a semi. Driving terrifies me. When I have to drive at night and see flashing lights, my pulse quickens and sometimes I need to pull over until my heart and mind settle. I work with a therapist about this.
The road trip actually did wonders for my fear of driving. I remember the day of the accident, I don't think I'd felt so free and happy before. I'd been paragliding and hiking in Jackson, WY. The two weeks prior, I'd been truck camping in Idaho having some of the most positive climbing experiences of my life. I drove through Yellowstone that morning listening to the Dixie Chicks. The song 'The Long Way Around' came on as the sun was rising and it moved me to tears of happiness. I got to Old Faithful just in time to watch it erupt, then take an early morning walk on an empty boardwalk. In the middle of the day, I popped the tailgate down and ate a bean and cheese burrito on the back of the truck. It felt like I was on top of the world, joyriding through one of America's treasures.
My campsite for the night didn't have access to water. I wanted an early start in the morning, I was on the road driving back into town for some water when I hit the elk. Four hours later, the tow truck dropped me, Ollie, and the truck off in the parking lot of an auto shop in Livingston, MT. I spent the night in the parking lot. The following morning, I blasted everyone I knew in the Rocky Mountain states to see if someone might know someone in the Livingston/Bozeman area. I couldn't live in a busted truck in a parking lot for however long the repairs would take.
Miraculously, a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend has a place in Livingston AND was willing to put me up for a few days! While caught in insurance limbo, I found myself surrounded by vibrant, artistic ladies. I'm forever grateful for having a place to make my bed this week. To be surrounded with great folks in a beautiful town was unexpected and beautiful.
Monday, I got the news about the truck. Bad news. Craiglist turned up a few possible replacement cars, and I borrowed a car to drive into a town with car dealerships. A couple hours later I became the owner of a sixteen year old Subaru Outback, it will get me home.
Today, I cleaned out the truck, took off the solar panel, and transferred the roof box. It's sad work disassembling your home for the past three months. So much dust, clutter, and memories. The truck isn't going to leave Montana, but I'll take the memories with me.
It'd be easy to feel down in the dumps about this, but I can feel nothing but gratitude. Gratitude for the friends who have friends who have friends in Livingston and vouched for me. Gratitude for Erica and Lauren not only putting me up for the week, letting me borrow a car to buy the Subie, but for also sharing their world with me. We have spent the week watching movies, going out on the town, cooking meals, and having a blast. I feel gratitude for moments of stillness, where I felt inspiration to make some art. I feel gratitude for friends and family who have been supportive during this mess. I am so thankful that neither Ollie or myself were injured in the accident. Trucks are replaceable, life isn't.
I'm going to be bolder now. I'm going to do what I can with the time I have to be present. I don't want to give into fake and easy fear. Most of the stuff we do everyday isn't going to kill us, some things may be unpleasant or spooky, but I don't want fear of the unknown to be my master.
It's important to spend time doing the things that bring us joy and remind the people we love that we care for them. I realize now that I need to get off my ass and make more art more often. It might be difficult at the moment because I'm so out of practice, but so what? It won't get any easier if I don't start now. It's been incredible to spend time with the fantastic people I've met along my journey, I hope to be able to repay this kindness to others in the future. Don't worry universe, I'm far too in awe of the wonders of people to forget this one, I will settle my karmic debt and pay interest in full and kindness.
Tomorrow, Ollie and I hit the road. We are going home. Ben is flying out for a tiny bit of climbing and to help with the driving. After the accident, I'm more than grateful that he'll be out and I won't have to do all the miles alone.
Thanks for the great memories, truck. I learned a lot about myself on this trip and am grateful for the chance to grow this summer.
