States of emotions after minor car accident

Today I managed to, as my grandma said, did my driver license all over again. I am driving for almost 10 years, I consider myself a good driver, sometimes — when I know I can — I do drive a bit fast, but, if we exclude some scratches and touching while parking, I did not had anything I could call an accident. Until today.

This wasn't bad accident. But it was one, although it was just the crash of side mirrors of two opposite driving vesicles. Just the mirrors. Only the mirrors.

But for me it also became an interesting unaware self-observing experiment of how the feelings were flowing over me, that lead into yet another philosophical self-conversation I wrote here.

Stage no. 1: unawareness

First, honestly speaking, I had no idea what the hell just happened. It was a bang and the mirror was gone. It was like “What the hell?” in my mind.

And then, it was “What the HELL!”

Stage no. 2: rage

I was so pissed off. I really was. It was, “you (please enter the most ugly swearing)!!!” I was sure and still am I sure I was not in my lane (the fact is I am used to regularly check where my back tire is in back mirror and I just checked it 2 seconds ago), so I was really pissed. So, yes! I was really really angry! I was pissed off!

Stage no. 3: glass half full

A few minutes after I stopped that swearing, I reminded myself of similar accident my sister had a few years ago. She lost the mirror and — thanks to that flying mirror — also the side window. I was just glad the mirror was the only thing that flew off my own car. I still didn’t think of me.

Stage no 4: shaken talking

The shaking sure did not stopped after that. I was still mad, but not just so much. I was still in a bit of a shock. I had to call someone and then tell everyone I met, what just happened. I just had to tell. It was better.

Until I stopped at home, stepped at the back of the car and really really took a look at the car itself.

The car is not old. And this means the side mirrors are not two pointy long sticks that are making the car wider that it is. When my dad drove home the first car with similar design, our response was: “It has a big ass.” And my, now poor car I names “Liza”, also has, no matter how angry she would be if she would not be a car and would hear me say this, “a big ass”. And with that it came the real shock:

Stage no. 5: “Ohhh, hell …” gratefulness

It was so close. It really was so damn close!

I did not do the measuring, but I am sure the whole mirror does not “stick” out of the other parts of the car its whole length. And this means, for two mirrors to touch, it was so damn close! And on a fast road, when we both had at least 80 km/h, it was so really damn close!

It was an accident. Almost anyone already had or will have or at least be in an accident. But, the only thing that were destroyed today, were the mirrors. Just the mirrors. With speed like this, in distance like this, I dare not to think it could and how much it could be worse.

Stage no. 6: it is ok.

Now, hours passed and I lost most of the shaking and most of that angry-scared-shocked feeling. And I know it will be ok. The car will get fixed. The car can get fixed. I will stop shaking and I will sleep tonight. Because, everything is ok.

I can say I just had my real fist accident and I am distressed, but I will be fine. I am grateful I will be fine.

Because …

It was just one moment …

And every time it could be just one small moment while doing whatever we do everyday — driving, walking, cooking, working, just whatever it is — that something happens to us and we feel what we feel and we can observe what we feel and how our feelings are changing. We go through all those stages of feelings when something happens. We think about what happened, how it happened and we (I hope) learn how to (not) do it again. And what could happen.

One small moment can remind us how sometimes we have no choice and options and how small and fleeting our lives are …

And here goes the reason of this stages of feeling and me writing them down … To remind myself:

One quick moment in time can also mean one last moment.
One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.