Recently I finished a nice morning run on Zuma Beach just as the sun rose over the ocean and felt pretty good about myself when I pulled into the Arco station on the PCH. The Arco has the cheapest gas in Malibu, which isn’t saying a whole lot, but since I had to drive into Los Angeles that day and was in that part of town anyway it made sense to fill up. I pulled up to the pump behind a small SUV, placed the car in park, and glanced over to make sure my tank was next to the pump, but when I looked forward again I noticed that the SUV was in reverse and coming at me. I honked just a moment before impact. Well, the driver was a nice guy who felt terrible about the accident that did no damage to his vehicle but a number on the front end of mine. We exchanged information and left to face the day.
Later, I reflected on how privileged I am. Let me count the ways: (i) I have a car; (ii) the other driver’s insurance paid for the repairs; (iii) it also paid for a rental car (and side note on even more privilege: the rental was a Toyota Corolla, so compared to my Honda Civic, I continued to turn heads in Malibu); and (iv) a great body shop returned my car good as new.
So given all that, how come everyone I mentioned the accident to responded as if I had lost a pet? And why did I feel as if this was all such a pain in the derriere? Am I really that spoiled?
Probably.
But on second thought, maybe everyone knows, and everyone includes me, that things like this take up time—and that time is one of our greatest possessions. When I thought of it that way I almost felt justified in pouting over the time I lost getting the car repaired.
Until I considered that pouting over anything is a pretty crappy way to use such a great possession, too.
Starting to Look Up 