One Split Second

This morning began like any other. I woke up sound. I took a bath. I went out to buy breakfast. Even stopped for a haircut before heading home. It was ordinary. Routine. A day I thought I could predict.

But life has a way of shattering routine in an instant.

On the narrow road back, everything changed. My vehicle moving forward. Another vehicle coming toward us. Neither of us giving way. Then the collision metal striking metal, bodies jolting against seats, time slowing just long enough for me to realize how quickly things can fall apart.

When I stepped out, I saw the bruises on my elbow, my knee, and my leg. The pain was sharp but manageable. What struck me harder was the thought that it could have been worse. Much worse.

And all because of one split second.

If the other driver had waited just a moment, just a breath none of it would have happened. That’s the thought that haunts me. The truth that rings louder than the sound of the crash itself: so much of life hangs on the smallest margins of time.

The Weight of a Split Second

I keep replaying it in my mind. What if he slowed down? What if my driver had braked just a fraction earlier? What if one of us had paused, even for a heartbeat?

One split second can change everything.

I think of people who’ve lived through moments far more devastating than mine. People who’ve walked away not just with bruises but with scars, losses, or even survivor’s guilt. I think of public figures, too like Donald Trump, who was grazed by a bullet at a rally. One inch closer and history would have shifted. Yet he still carried on, still stood before cameras, still ran a country as though the wound was a footnote instead of a headline.

How do people keep going after trauma? How do they wake up, carry on, and keep living in a world that once tried to break them?

I don’t think it’s because they’re fearless. I think it’s because they’ve learned something I only realized today: life doesn’t demand much to keep moving forward. Sometimes it only demands patience.

What I Tell Myself Now

As I washed my wounds later that day, I found myself repeating a simple mantra: Breathe before you move. Wait before you rush.

That’s the lesson the accident left me with. A truth I don’t want to forget.

Because the difference between safety and disaster, between calm and chaos, isn’t always measured in hours or days. Sometimes it’s measured in seconds. Sometimes it’s in the decision to wait, to breathe, to hold back before surging forward.

I imagine what the other driver must have felt. Maybe he was in a hurry. Maybe he thought he had enough space. Maybe he didn’t even see it coming until it was too late. I don’t know. But I do know that impatience has consequences. And today, both of us paid for them

The bruises will fade. The pain will ease. The vehicle will be repaired. But what I carry with me now is more than a physical mark, it’s a reminder stitched into my memory.

From now on, I want to live by this: slow down. Take the extra moment. Wait the split second.

Because the truth is, that pause can save more than a car. It can save a life.