After hours at the dealership I was ready to be on the road. They had parked my car at the end of the lot in this odd space that had low concrete barriers on either side. A voice in my head said, “Be careful.”
I wasn’t.
I turned too soon and my car ran over the barrier. When I came down, I heard the sound of rapidly escaping air. I got out of my car, looked at the tire, and cursed the day.
That meant more time at the dealership, more money spent, more misery. What could I do? I headed back and sheepishly let the dealership know I needed more help.
On the way home, driving on my new tire, I tried to reframe the event. It was good, I thought, because that was an old tire. No, that didn’t work.
It was good, I thought, because that tire could have burst anywhere and it happened where I could get help. Nope. Still depressed.
Wake up, I told myself. Shit happens. You spend your life trying to be safe all the time, to make sure your troubles are as efficient as possible. Now something happened outside your control and you have an opportunity to laugh about it, wake up, realize you’re not dead, you’re fine. The busted tire is that gift to you.
And then this song occurred to me.
https://youtu.be/TObxigVA5Pc
