two illustrations in observing limits {crash & burn}

The milieu.
The weekend before last was gorgeous here, a return of the quintessential perfect Northwest Washington summers I remember growing up: cloudless, mid-80s, a light breeze. And miracle of miracles, not only did this weather fall on the weekend (on a consecutive Friday, Saturday, Sunday, I tell you), but it happened before the fourth of July, which is almost unheard of (because, as all Pacific NW natives know, summer doesn't actually start here until July 5).

Some of you may be rolling your eyes by now thinking that girl just needs to get over this, but you'd have to be a native and have lived through the great disappointment that was June, July, and August of 2007 and the eight months of winter that followed to appreciate fully the sheer and miraculous beauty of such perfect summer weather arriving at all, let alone prior to July 4, and on a weekend.

Burn.
Needless to say, I couldn't wait to be outside under an expanse of a blue sky uncluttered by clouds. I was anxious enough on Saturday morning that after my morning routine was over at the gym, I rushed home to shower, put on a tank top and some shorts and ran out the door as quickly as I could manage.

Without sunscreen. Oops (she thinks sheepishly).

When I got to Boulevard Park, I got an iced soy latte from The Woods (note to Sarah and Christin and Christianne: we are soooo going here!!), spread out my blanket on the grass mere feet from the ocean water, pulled out my book, and cozied in for my afternoon. I marveled at the fact that the park wasn't more crowded, that I had no issues finding a parking space nearby. I giggled as U2's "Beautiful Day" blared on my iPod. As a light breeze came off the ocean and cooled my skin, I wondered if I was experiencing heaven.

Two and a half hours later, I was still reluctant to leave. This was perfect. But I already knew I was in for a world of hurt given my lack of sun protection. The mirror confirmed my suspicions when I got home. The skin on my back, arms, and legs was bright red. I moved the straps of my tanktop to reveal the pale skin underneath. It was especially apparent then just how burned I was.

Crash.
The next day I was making my way south to head to a friend's engagement party and the same perfect weather accompanied me on my drive. The particular friend I was driving to see has made her home abroad, so she isn't someone I get to see often.

I was cruising at a comfortable speed down the interstate when suddenly traffic came to a screeching halt. My car was stopped just before a left-turning curve in the freeway and I couldn't see what had happened. Traffic wasn't crawling; it was fully stopped. It was a matter of minutes later that I heard sirens and saw flashing red lights in the rearview mirror. All the drivers pulled to the shoulders of the freeway, parking on the shoulders and leaving the lanes perfectly clear. I whispered prayers for the driver and any passengers.

Ambulances and fire trucks squealed by. After waiting a few minutes and no movement, we all started getting out of our cars. Shirtless teenage boys were playing frisbee. People were walking their dogs on the shoulders, and a woman behind me asked if I had any water I could give her 6-week-old puppies. A few minutes later, another woman walked down the length of the freeway inviting us all to partake in leftovers from a family camping trip. I was thankful for the cool ripe mango and plump red strawberries.

The minutes ticked by, slow and sluggish in the heat of the day. A few people had walked in a southerly direction to see what they could see. The rumors made their way north. Jackknifed trailer. Car flipped over.

No one knew how much longer it would be.

After waiting for a long hour, there was no change in circumstances. I called my friend's family home and left a message. I didn't know how much longer it would be. Unable to make it. So sorry. I hung the phone up, disappointed. I was damp with sweat even in the shade and the burn was making it feel as though my skin would crack every time I moved. But I had to appreciate that despite the fact that people were missing their planes, that they were running late, that we were all uncomfortably damp with sweat, we were all making the best of it: conversing interestedly with perfect strangers, playing frisbee, sharing ripe fruit off the back of a trailer.

I was looking to the south when I noticed people running back to their cars. A chorus of engines turned over and slowly, we all inched back on to the freeway and started moving again.

Just a quarter of a mile south of where I had stopped, I saw the wreck and felt as though all the breath had been sucked from my chest: broken glass. a trailer that looked as though a bomb had been lit from the inside: blankets, camping gear, coolers thrown out like confetti. an SUV with its tires in the air, the front of the car flattened. i thought of a dead dog with its legs stiff and straight in the air. and then the tow truck tugging on the upside-down vehicle, the sound of metal and glass grating against the pavement.

I wondered how anyone could have survived. I wondered at the timing. Had I gotten to that spot even fifteen seconds earlier ... I couldn't finish the thought.

The next day I learned that the driver was towing a trailer far larger than his SUV was able to handle. That he was driving too fast, the trailer swinging so slightly from side to side until it swung wider and jackknifed, flipping him over. I learned that he lived, coming away with only minor injuries. I saw that SUV. That he survived at all is a miracle.

I didn't make it to my friend's party that day. I was too shaken to drive much further. And I started thinking about sunburns and peeling skin and jackknifed trailers and overturned vehicles and how sometimes the line around my limits, the line that divides what I can handle from what I cannot is so fuzzy that I don't know I've stepped over that line until something happens. Sometimes I know exactly where they are, the warning there in black and white or in the memory of previous experiences.

I am too humbled by what I saw to do much moralizing on the matter. But what I take away from that weekend is this: my limits are real and definite. Fair skin is burned when exposed to the sun for too long without protection and cars flip over when transgressing the appropriate limits of weight and size and speed. It is good for me to remember that the space between the place where I start and where I end is not at all long. While I am fond of playing God from time to time, I have my reddened, peeling skin and the sound of glass and metal reverberating in my mind, two reminders that nothing good waits for me when I get cocky or forgetful or dismissive or too smart for my own good, thinking I can handle it without detriment to myself and others.

I don't know where the boundary line is most of the time, the line between Him and me. I step over into His territory often enough, thinking it is mine, that I am more in myself than I really am: that I am capable, that I am strong, that there are no consequences that come from stepping outside the limits I pretend aren't there. Sometimes I know exactly where it is, but I step over it anyway.

I don't really know what I'm trying to say anymore, except if it's to acknowledge the truth that I think it's better for me to surrender it all to Him in the first place, not to operate from within my all-too-limited self. What if I live moment to moment, giving over my energy, my work, my cooking, my writing, my photography, my relationships ... what if I give up my power to Him completely in these places? In fact, what if I give it up to Him in all the places (not just the ones I deem as in need of help)?

I know what happens if I don't. I wonder what might happen if I do.

photos by kirsten.michelle