Sleepwalking through life

A few days ago in Florida, as my cousin stepped off the bus, she was run over by someone on an e-bike. The person operating the e-bike profusely apologized and stayed with her until she was taken to the emergency room. Although badly bruised and requiring a few stitches above her eye, she is fine. But she looked awful. It was quite a collision.

I asked her if she saw her life flash by.

She didn’t respond.

She probably wasn’t amused.

This reminded me of a day after work in San Francisco when, as soon as I stepped off the curb, a speeding car brushed by me. In hindsight, it felt like someone held me back as the speeding car, seemingly barely touching my skin, gently swooshed by me without any air turbulence. And I remember being balanced on tiptoes on the road as the car sped past.

Zip, slow motion, zip.

In between those zips, I saw my life flash by—from birth to that moment. It was quicker than a blink. I remember thinking, Oh, I guess this is what they mean.

And then I went on with my day.

I didn’t think anything of it.

I had a few other close calls over the years. I have never made the connection. It wasn’t until decades later that I began to notice—how much of my life I had been traveling through half-aware. Sleepwalking, really.

The waking up wasn’t sudden. It came slowly.

Lately, I’ve been trying to be more mindful. To be present. To be authentic. To be grateful. To be kind. To be a little more compassionate—with others, and with myself.

Sometimes, I still sleepwalk.

But more often now, I’m mindful.

And more mindful of our guides, guardian angels, or whatever you prefer to call them, watching over each of us.