Kismet

I got into a car accident last week.

Actually, I should specify: Someone got into a car accident with me.

I was driving through a residential neighborhood in PA, heading to the hotel after a day of work. As I entered an intersection, a car that was paused at the stop sign on my left proceeded to plow into me.

She hit me so hard that my car spun around almost 360 degrees. I remember feeling disoriented because I saw a car stopped there, but then it was accelerating toward me. I tried to swerve, but the other driver still hit me hard enough that my body slammed against the door.

After we both stopped, we got out. A few adults on the street nearby rushed toward us and said, “Is everyone okay?”

Fortunately, were both fine. The other driver—an older woman with dyed red hair—was clearly flustered.

“I have never been in an accident in my life!” she said. “I don’t know what to do!”

“I need to call my daughter-in-law!” And then, “I never can see very well at that intersection!”

Later, she admitted that she put her foot on the gas instead of the brake when she saw me coming.

I was in shock. It didn’t make any sense, according to how the world is supposed to work.

But we were okay. So then I started feeling grateful.

First, I wasn’t in my own little red car. I was in a rental because I was there for work. Jellybean was safe in the rental lot at home.

Oh, yeah. Enterprise: Sorry about that.

Second, I was driving a Dodge Challenger. A muscle car. I felt ridiculous driving it, but the rental office had only four vehicles to choose from. It was a tank! And so while the driver side door was now crushed and the window wouldn’t close all the way, I could at least get in and out.

By some stroke of luck, I happened to be staying next to the local airport—it was the cheapest decent hotel I could find. And that rental office was open until midnight. So, I could swap out the car that evening and have no trouble getting to my 8:00 am meeting the next day.

The car was driveable, according to the attending police officer, so I traveled the few miles in my dented wheels to the airport. And as I pulled out my credit card to pay the $500 deductible that Enterprise requires until our insurance companies could settle, I thought, “I am so lucky that I can afford to pay this $500. What would I do if I couldn’t?”

I walked out of the rental office at 8 pm that night feeling quite lucky. But when I went to get into the minivan that they had for me (the only kind left on their lot), a neighboring truck was parked so close that I literally could not get to the driver side door.

I stood there, looking at the car for a few minutes. The irony—that the driver’s side door of the next car I was trying to get into was blocked.

I debated going back inside to tell them. But instead, I opened the passenger side door and climbed in over the console. It was awkward. But I was a gymnast.

Once in the seat, I buckled in. The mirrors of the two cars were almost touching. I wasn't sure how I would get out. And then, I cried.

Earlier that day, in one of the meetings I was in, a few people were talking about how life is short—fleeting even. Someone in the group had said, “You never know one of us might not be here tomorrow!”

What an odd comment. But sitting in my minivan in the almost-abandoned airport lot, it made perfect sense.

A week later, I got a text from my insurance company: $7,013.32 paid to Enterprise. They will now subrogate the other company to get that back. But I’m still here. And so is the other driver.

There is much to be grateful for.

Thank you, Serendipity. Thanks, Kismet. And thanks, Providence—when you need it, that sometimes moves too.