LXXIX (79) Construction

The bag ripped apart, halfway up the bicycle ramp of the Williamsburg bridge.

History repeats.

Bags falling apart when I’m trying to bring groceries home when I was 10 in Seattle, and then it’s happening again just yesterday on the bridge.

Catastrophes averted.

Two years ago, I had a bicycle accident on the bridge. I think I was knocked out for a few seconds, I shouldn’t have been, but I had one to many with my co-workers after our shifts and shouldn’t have been riding that night. There was a light rain.

Luckily I was wearing a helmet. I landed on my face, my cheek scraped on the ground. But I didn’t lose my teeth. I had a scar under my eye, that looked like a faded shiner for a year. I think something inside me, or something from the past made me crash my bike that night trying to save my life. Maybe it was my grandfather coming back through time to save my life again. Maybe it was my future self. Maybe it was me all along.

Free me from my self-destructive ways.

And now I’m grateful to say.

I survived my own self-destruction. And I’m back on my way.

Crisis averted.

The ever present existential crisis has become a dear friend. I don’t know why we’re here, but we might as well dance with it.

And now, I have so many reasons to live. Wake up and live right now. I’m so thankful for this day.