A Reflective Journey: Transforming Fear into Resilience

Recently, I experienced an incident that has made me quiet and reflective, provoking a deep contemplation. I opted to write about it, dressing it up as a tale to add a layer of imagination rather than showing it as a first-person account. This method helped me to establish a separation from the events, presenting an objective stance that I didn't necessarily feel at the time. It put me in a no-man's land where I observed my situation from a detachment that I kind of felt and kind of didn't.

Let me present to you the article I submitted in the Wheel group called "Roadside Recovery."

Roadside Recovery: A Story of Isolation and Resilience

"Roadside Recovery" presents the account of a vehicle difficulty from the viewpoint of the lady who experienced it. She was roaming alone in the early evening, which gradually grew into a dark wintery night. She found herself sitting and waiting for someone to arrive and fix or, maybe, reclaim her car.

While the overview may sound less than fascinating, the story is a frank revelation of a very risky and miserable condition. It conveys the gravity of what occurred, even if it was ultimately only a lot of waiting. The experience was mine, and well done to Cathy Holmes for picking up on it.

Why Write It as a Third-Person Story?

When I sat down to undertake this work, I wanted to communicate the emptiness of the experience. Being left someplace unfamiliar in the dark on your own, with no definite method of carrying on to somewhere safer and more familiar, always invokes anxiety and concern, and if I'm honest, a little bit of terror.

I didn't believe that I could explore it in the same way if I narrated it as "me." By writing it in the third person, I could create a location that allowed me to dig deeper into the emotions and the intensity of the incident. It seemed like I was there; however, I was not there. Everything seemed like I was a guide, a spectator, but still actually experiencing everything.

The Duality of Emotions

I've spoken about how I felt both terrified and not worried at all about the event. I was in two levels of consciousness the entire time it was happening. Everything seemed like I was a guide, a spectator, but still actually experiencing everything. This duality allowed me to write the narrative with a fresh viewpoint, balancing the joy of the experience with a distant analysis.

Reflecting on the Experience

The experience happened on Saturday night, and I spent most of Sunday in a somewhat weird mentality. There was physical strain generated by a true headache (vape withdrawal symptoms, I assume, since the driver of the rescue car vaped the entire journey back, and the nauseating chemically delicious mist assaulted my brain and my refractory nose for two hours). This was followed with the acceptance of relief as I decompressed from something truly painful, which was a lesson in openness.

At the moment, I felt reasonably calm. I had moments, don't get me wrong, but I was confined. What else could I be? I was dependent on others, imprisoned in a truck with nowhere to go. What would fear bring me but increasing anxiety?

I questioned whether I placed myself into this mental position to cope. It's like storing my fear and uncertainty in a box so it's quiet and strangled, then tucking it into a deep pocket until it may be allowed out to cause havoc if it chooses, but not until I say so or until I am prepared to address it.

The Mysterious Danger

Looking back, I understood that I was in danger the entire time. I was at risk from various things. It's not the facing immediate danger of a person with a knife, or being ringed in a dark alley as a lady alone, or diving and seeing a shark rushing at you. This was not fight or flight.

This was danger, veiled and mysterious, ready to pounce from a position unknown at a moment unknown for maximum devastating effect. I felt, for the most part, that I was safe—but was I? I didn't know. Or rather, I did understand there was a potential I wasn't. I knew it the entire time.

Conclusion

In conclusion, my experience of a car breakdown and the accompanying pondering have been a huge expedition. By writing about it as a third-person fiction, I was able to examine the feelings and the intensity of the incident from a fresh aspect. This tragedy has taught me about perseverance, empathy, and the need to keep calm in the face of uncertainty.

Whether you find yourself in a comparable position or are just musing about your own experiences, realize that it's acceptable to feel anxiety and perplexity. The purpose is to develop a strategy to manage and to stay calm, even in the face of the uncertainty. By doing so, you may translate worry into grit and emerge stronger from the circumstance.

Start today—pause, think, and love the present moment.