So a funny thing happened to me on the way to writing about my friend Amanda being in a car accident—I stopped.
2 weeks ago my friend Amanda was in a pretty ugly car accident. Really ugly. The people that hit her were drunk, and at least one of them (that I know of) died.
So started to blog about the accident, but as I was writing, I really started having trouble with it. It didn’t seem “right” to me to be telling someone else’s story.
It felt almost gossipy, as everything was really third hand.
And how strange is that, when this blog is chock full of me rambling on about basically nothing, or going on rants about my mac, and yet I feel weird writing about one of my good friends being in a pretty serious accident.
But maybe it wasn’t just that it felt gossipy. The more I think about it now, the more I realize what a huge and terrifying impact the event had on me—and maybe I just wasn’t ready to talk about it. The whole thing really shook me up, a lot more than she, or even I had realized.
It starts to bring up all kinds of big questions about life and how quickly it can be taken away from you. About what we’re here for, and that every moment—even the shitty ones—are really important.
It’s been one of the major events lately that has made me realize that the only constant in life is change.