Life is a Miracle

My senior year of high school, I took a class called expository writing. One of the assignments was to write a “This I Believe” essay. It was a pretty vague prompt; basically write about something you believe in. I love nondescript assignments because they let me be more creative than a research paper or even an analysis would. Consequently, I was one of the only students in the class that was genuinely excited about the assignment.

I remember that I was sitting on the top of the bleachers in the gym waiting to watch my boyfriend drum during halftime of a basketball game when inspiration struck. I quickly got my phone out and started typing. It was just rambling but there was a solid idea behind it. Later, when I had the chance to sit down and look at what I had written, I started to piece it together into something coherent. After a couple of revisions, I finally submitted it to be graded.

Later in the class, our teacher told us that the school was looking for pieces to compile into a book called “Flight”. It was supposed to feature students’ art and writing but they had much more art than stories or poetry. Our teacher encouraged us to submit our “This I Believe” essays for the book and of course, no one seemed interested.

I wasn’t used to sharing any personal work, especially with my peers in high school, but I was becoming more confident with my writing and I did genuinely enjoy my essay. I convinced myself that it would be a good idea and submitted my work. It was selected, as I am sure there were not many other options, and printed in the high school’s first (and I can only assume last) edition of “Flight”.

A couple weeks later, I was notified that “Flight” was putting on a kind of show in the theater of the school. They were putting out all of the students’ art and having those whose writing was chosen read what they wrote. I was not excited about the idea of sharing at first, especially because I am not a huge fan of public speaking, but I concluded that there would not be a large audience and that it may be a good way to see how I share my own work.

I did not invite any of my friends, my parents, or even my boyfriend. I’m not sure if I could even say why. Maybe I didn’t want it to be personal. I just wanted to get on stage, read my work, and leave. That is exactly what I did.

I was really nervous. I felt the way I usually do when I speak in public; as if I sounded like I was about to cry. But, I kept going and finally finished the story. I did not really look up enough to see if the crowd was interested, and part of me didn’t really care. I had worked up the courage to share and that’s all that mattered to me. I went outside and waited for my boyfriend to pick me up and we headed out to a friend’s graduation party.

I don’t think this is exactly a “work up the courage to accomplish your goals” piece, or a “have sympathy for me because I was scared to speak in public and didn’t even tell my mom about it” piece, I think it’s more of me sharing the process behind this essay and maybe trying to figure out why it means so much to me.

At long last, with all vagueness aside, here is my essay:

Life is a Miracle

Two years ago in October, I crashed my car on my way to work.

I was going too fast on a fairly sharp, very steep turn on a country road. I had taken that turn every day that summer when I went to work at ROC; the little ice cream and mini golf shop a town over. The pavement was hardly wet from rain that had fallen earlier in the day. I was listening to my music on a go-deaf level, as usual, and singing my heart out when I found myself just a little too far to the right side of the road.

I felt my two right tires hit gravel as I was turning down the hill, so I turned the wheel to the left toward the middle of the road. I felt myself lose control of my car. I panicked and desperately tried to swerve back to the right, but it was clearly too late.

My first car, the car that I spent every penny I had saved since I was ten years old, spun out of control. I shut my eyes and waited for what I thought was the inevitable; pain. I waited for the crash of an oncoming car coming up the hill, the inescapable gravitational pull to the ceiling as my car flipped the rest of the way down the hill, or the sting of the airbag as I smashed into a tree.

Surprisingly, I came to a halt. I tried to open the driver’s side door, but a rather large shrub was directly outside. I crawled out the passenger door right as a tall, dark-haired man grabbed my hand and helped me out.

After the stranger helped to calm me down to a functional level, I called my parents and the police. About 30 minutes later, I showed up to work to scoop ice cream.

You may think this is a warning about being an irresponsible teenage driver, or about the kind gentleman who helped a stranger out of her totaled car and stayed with her until she calmed down, but this is really about the miracle of making it though one day of your life.

There are so many ways to die; so many ways that the all-too-fragile body can be cut, bruised, and broken, so many diseases and irreversible conditions that can be contracted by each and every human on this earth. Hell, some people go to sleep and never wake up.

Although it may be overstated, it is truly a miracle that you open your eyes in the morning. It’s truly a miracle that you aren’t involved in a car crash on your way to school or work. It’s truly a miracle that you don’t come down with a fatal sickness, or die of infection after any minuscule surgery. Just as much as it is a miracle that you survive each day, it is a miracle that your loved ones do also. You count on seeing your parents, siblings, spouse, or children at the dinner table tonight, but realize that it is a miracle when you do. They all survived the physical danger, mental weariness, and emotional turmoil of today. Granted, some may have handled it better than others, but appreciate their presence and simply say, “I love you.” Even when you’re mad, even if you can’t stand the thought of one nice word leaving your mouth, you will never regret reminding the people you love how much you care.

I believe that life itself is a miracle.

Elizabeth Redhead, Senior