For those who weren’t aware, I was rear-ended in Albuquerque yesterday. It went as well as it could have. The young fellow who bumped me from behind took responsibility, no one was hurt, my car did not strike the one ahead of me, and I’d been on my way to the chiropractor anyway; he was able to promptly unwind any stress in this nervous system.
The other driver, aptly named Adam, was 24 and an accident virgin. Since he has been driving for 10 years or so and drives all day delivering beef jerky for a living, I reassured him he’s probably still ahead of the odds as a driver. “You’ve done well!” And if I could have given him a report card for the way he comported himself yesterday, his insurance company would waive any hike to his premiums. It was a relative pleasure to relate to this young fellow, as we sat in the airless police substation and compared notes on our accident reports. “What did you put for number 6?”
He had those lately-vogue gasket holes in his earlobes, where the lobe is stretched around a ring coronally, rather than with the ring penetrating and hanging perpendicular to the lobe. I told him I felt like we’d met before, but I did not say that perhaps it was in Africa, where that sort of piercing has been common for centuries.
Just before I was struck, I’d been thinking to myself, “I have a bit of time; maybe I should wash the car.” Wham.
The adjuster for Adam’s insurance company called this morning, as a crew was power washing the house for new stucco. I chuckled as the water scoured the window with the sound, if not the full surround sensation, of a car wash.
I was already in pain this afternoon when I took the car to two different collision repair places to get time and money estimates for the insurance company. The estimates were about $800 different; the second, bigger, slicker establishment offered the higher one, along with the counsel that the cost was creeping up near the value of my car, and that it might be a Total. Under the impression that my car was worth more than that still, I was dubious. I called the adjustor and filled her in. After having seen the pictures of my van’s back end, she was inclined to agree with the second guy’s speculation.
Even so, I decided to go wth the first estimate, from a smaller shop, in business since 1979, seeming to have less to prove and less overhead to make! She told me to call them and let them know to expect her official “assignment.” I tried calling them three times, from three different spots in Santa Fe after that and the call would not connect from any of them. This gave me pause. Universe testing my resolve?… or trying to tell me something….? I emailed the adjustor to tell her of this…and the delay it might cause.
This gives me a chance to let go of it all and make peace with the prospect of a “total,” of potentially losing the van. I still don’t feel my choice of shops was unsound, but all the mischief does make me want to consult an impartial oracle!
I was really drooping after that, but I had another appointment, and I was late, later after trying to find parking in the Guadalupe shopping district, and numb after my appointment was less than rewarding.
I still had to teach a yoga class, though. So I drove over to Santa Fe Community Yoga. If you haven’t been, consider a visit, at least to the premises. There is a labyrinth outside. I got still on a bench, lying on it at first with my head and shoulders spilling off the end, simply breathing the body into that open hearted shape, letting all the busy contents of the head tumble into the earth, and the roots of my will reach from my kidneys out my heels. I began to slip back into my body, hand into glove. Then I sat up, still, except for the miraculous tide of sanity and nourishment that the breath perpetually offers us. It didn’t take long to re-own my center and my life, and release all the soggy streamers of heavy thoughts that seem to clutter the ethers more than ever lately and through which we must navigate our vessels of light. By the end of most days in the city, I feel like I’ve been wrapped in muddy, mucky, muggley paper-mache. Then I must call in the twin angels of breath and surrender to come help liberate the space trapped inside the pinata- shell this worldly webbing would harden into.
Five minutes later, I was ready to go in to the studio and lead a class. After the class, I was thanking the students as much as they were thanking me. So lucky. Where two or more are gathered….
Now that I had worked the dents and kinks out of my flesh vehicle, my automotive vehicle and all associated with it, did not look so bad.