I have never been bullet proof or immortal (that I know). As far back as I can remember, I do not recall ever having had this feeling. Others have, I am told. Usually young guys, from what I hear. The first time I ever heard about this phenomenon was years ago from a good friend. He told me a story that included a tale of physical peril which injured him as a result. It was at that point in his life, he said, that he realized he wasn't immortal. Interestingly, this is a person who, at that point in his life, had lived through two tours in Vietnam. But that is another story entirely.
"Bullet proof" is a commonly used term for this idea. When I first heard about this feeling, I was amazed. I had never heard of such a thing, though it is supposedly common in young people of a certain age. Apparently, I slipped by this age envelope without noticing, as I have always felt an inherent sense of physical jeopardy. Indeed, I remember feeling amazed that I had made it past twelve years old, and then, twenty. Now, you would think, given this orientation, that I was a cautious individual from way back. But, you would be wrong in a way. When I think back on it, it occurs to me that this attitude came as the result of a few early experiences with physical excess and the pain that resulted. There are two that particularly stick out, mundane as they may seem.
At the age of ten, I decided to see if I could do one hundred deep knee bends, which sounded like a challenge to my young brain. Nice round number. It turned out that it was not nearly the challenge I thought it might be. At the time. The next day I could barely walk. The simple idea of it had never occured to me. The mind boggled. Delayed muscle reaction to excessive exercise.
I "threw my back out" when I was eleven. Much later, I would realize that I probably just pulled a bunch of back muscles as a result of doing a playground monkey bar maneuver that involved standing on top of the bar, swinging forwards until momentum allowed my legs to swing out and my hands release, flinging me away from the bar and landing feet first on the ground. A little scary. Super fun. Done it before. Then, one day, it just didn't work out quite right. Again, could barely walk for days. Only this time, the result was immediate. I don't know when your first muscle pulls were, but I think I was perhaps ahead of my time for a kid not engaged on parent-driven, serious, competitive sports.
I think these early experiences were formative. Pain was not good. I mean the kind of pain that resulted from just being a kid running around like a banshee, like normal. Burning energy like so many spare plastic army men. Not like being dumb and putting your finger in a light socket, or playing with matches or knives. These are the things you were warned about continuously, and they always made perfect sense to me. You could see the consequences would be undesireable. To me at least. Perhaps another symbol of my overactive imagination. That is another story by itself. But no one ever really said, "Don't do too much of that exercise!" or "Watch out! You might pull a muscle!" Even though Dad seemed to do both of these two things on a regular basis. It was said later, but not before I already had a smattering of first-hand experience. You know, how many of those darn deep knee bends constituted "too many?" Who knew? One hundred, it turned out, was too many. But fifty probably would have sufficed for the cautionary effect on a kid just messing around in the back yard. But, you know, going overboard is in the nature of being a kid, in a way. Testing the limits. I just learned those earlier than many, apparently. Having to hobble along at the age of ten as if you needed a walker was definitely not an experience I wanted to duplicate on purpose.
And, I could extrapolate from these experiences, it turned out. Many years of this continuous extrapolation (AKA How much pain and disability do I want to possibly endure?), have lead me to what I think is fairly sane risk analysis and mitigation. In fact, I am the queen of risk anticipation. When one must make a living physically, she is forced to face this nearly every day. And it does not have to be grueling or overly demanding, just physical. As in, you can't just hobble into the cubie the next day and type away all day in MS Office, then get paid.
So, when a very likeable cohort of mine was recently in a major motorcycle accident and almost killed, it particularly bummed me out. Fortunately, he will recover and has a lot of friends and family to support him as he does. But the thing that astonished me was the unquestioned anti-motorcycle sentiment that swirled about in the immediate aftermath. Now, don't get me wrong. I get it. But, then again, I got it before. As in, it's an inherently dangerous activity, and there are wacko drivers behind every hydrant. But it is a risk that you decide to take in return for the potential enjoyment of the activity. Hopefully, you also factor in a lot of risk management, but I understand that many don't. How sad is it, then, that it took a life-threatening accident to put that into perspective. It was there before. And, to be honest, I felt sort of traiterous, listening to all the "motorcycles are bad" sentiment. It just didn't seem polite to even think, "in spite of your misfortune, I'm going to ride again." But people do. Many believe that it cannot happen to them. I've never been one of those. Lots of shitty things happen every day.
I understand that this is not the politically correct view in many ways. I also understand that it is life altering and can take the fun completely away from anything. On the other hand, a few months back, I was a moment away from being killed in a car myself by the wreckless behavior of another automobile driver. As it turned out, I sustained relatively minor injuries in the end, mostly due to some quick reactions by me and my driver at the last minute, and the safety features of the car (side curtain airbags on a VW Jetta, to be specific; I recommend these highly, both the bags and the Jetta). Let me say, that when I was healed enough to drive again, it was very spooky, to say the least. For a while. No fun at all. Nerve racking. I could have made other arrangements, taken the bus, whatever. But it is more convenient and timely to drive. The freedom it provides trumps the inherent risk. And there is inherent risk. On the other hand, I could drop dead from a brain aneurysm, like another friend from work did a few years ago.
Perhaps I would have a different perspective if I were the one in the bike crash. It could well be. But, on the other hand, crummy things happen every day to good people. Especially recently. Like a cloud hanging. In my vicinity, the under fifty crowd of folks I actually know and work with has been taking a beating in this regard. Crummy things happening en masse. Injuries and illness in a tight little cloud of blackness. A real continual downer to say the least. And yes, it makes one really appreciate what one has. But, for so many years, for various reasons: finances, work, fear, risk aversion and even just lack of available friends and cohorts, I've felt as if I never really explored things more at the edges of life. OK, some, very early on, when in my pack behavior stage. But once I began trying to scrape out a living, it dwindled precipitously. Fear took over for much of my life. Fear of a failed marriage, fear of loneliness, of what others think, fear of failure, of financial ruin, of hurting someone you love, of not being able to make a living. And on and on into the sunset.
I'm tired of being afraid. I've been tired for a while now and cannot live that way any more. It's been a slow process and has its gaps here and there. Sometimes the gaps are enormous (more on that later). But that is what life is all about, isn't it? What risk are you willing to accept in order to live life in all its aspects? Life is not short, for the most part, as the saying usually goes. Here, life is generally long. Maybe too long in too many cases, if my family's experiences are any indication. It is way too long to just languish without at least reaching out for experiences and challenges. Managing fear is a true challenge. Going with the flow and staying within the lines only takes you so far, it turns out. The rest is about managing the risks of staying alive, while still feeling alive. And they are legion.
As they say, tragedy is easy, comedy is hard.
