5 ▫️ shaken and stirred

I've shared a lot about my personal journey in this blog. In a short time, I've addressed insecurities, doubts, and fears; the need for courage; and some views about myself that are changing. I have likened my challenges to hazards on a road that need to be avoided, swerved around, or sped past. 

Sadly, there are occasions on a journey where everything must come to a full stop. 

Ashton and I used to commute to work, one hour each way, up and down Highway 101 between Santa Rosa and Ukiah, California. One night we were driving home when we came up on brake lights. We were close enough to see the cleared section of highway, the ambulances, Highway Patrol, flashing lights…and a car so crumpled and burned we couldn't tell what it used to be. We sat and waited for what felt like an eternity, until traffic was diverted along a nearby offramp and we detoured onto the Old Redwood Highway. As we drove away, we could see the medical helicopter landing not far from where we had been on the highway, and I couldn't stop the tears. 

I think it's pretty natural for us, when confronted with tragedy, to put ourselves in that situation, to ask “what if”. On the rest of the way home, we said: “What if we hadn't stayed late at work?” “What if we had finished that last job sooner?” We held each other’s hand as we made our way home in the fading daylight, grateful for that delay that kept us on the other side of the accident, grateful that we were both okay, grateful that we were together. 

I don't know anyone who hasn't been affected by the mass shooting in Las Vegas earlier this week. Our lives come to a halt, and we sit and watch reports about the attacker, the victims, the first responders, and the families and friends of all involved. There are vigils and memorial services as we try to wrap our minds around the depths of sorrow and futility. We try to make sense of the senselessness. The media descends like a helicopter and we can't help but cry. 

Many of us personally knew people on the scene. Even in this tiny community, I know someone whose niece was there. Even if we don't, we might feel an instant connection on some level. Whether we want to give everyone a hug and hope, like my sister does, or we want to do something so this will never happen again, there is something drawing us in, making us all a part of the experience. We ask “what if”. We pull our loved ones closer and feel gratitude, and wish the affected families could do the same. 

I don't view this as a political issue. It isn't about gun control, terrorism, or left versus right. 

This is a human issue. And we're all human. 

Events like this should make us stop. We don't step on the gas when we come upon an accident. We stop. We make sure our passengers are safe. We render aid to the victims if possible. We make room for the trained first responders. 

We can't all be in Las Vegas to comfort those who mourn. At least, I can't be there. So what will I do? 

I will stop.  

I will check in with my family and friends to make sure they are okay. 

I will offer comfort and hope to those around me who need it. 

I will learn from this tragedy: I will learn empathy, and compassion, and endurance. 

My journey won't always be stopped here. The road will be cleared and I will move forward. There's no guarantee that the road will always be clear, but I don't want to be the one causing traffic to back up. But I also can't just “move on” without giving it another thought. 

Yes, I am on a journey. Yes, it's personal — intensely so at times. This doesn't make it exclusive. Part of the journey is sharing the road with others, noticing the other drivers, not just to avoid collisions but to have that sense of commonality. We're all going somewhere. 

It can be so easy to focus on the differences between us. What happens when we look for the things we have in common? 

Walls crumble. 

Tensions ease.

Differences fade. 

Understanding happens. 

Compassion blooms. 

There are flowers enough for us all. I'll see you on the road.