YOLO

Last week was tough. My partner, who is going to be fine, was in a bad car crash on the freeway. If the biggest impact is a dent in our finances, we are so fortunate.

As I sat in Starbucks working on job applications and scheduling coffee meetings, I received a phone call from the mother of my children, my life partner, who told me between sobs that she crashed on 101, the car was totaled, she was bleeding, and an ambulance was on the way.

There was only one thought in my mind; oh fuck.

Two secondary thoughts and questions arose: I don't care about the status of the car, why would I care about that? And I need to get there, how do I get there? With adrenaline coursing through my veins and fear clouding my judgement, I drove quickly* to where first responders were loading my partner into an ambulance. I later learned that a good samaritan had stopped in the middle of 101 to help - although he didn't speak English and my wife was in shock, he was able to tell her to turn off the smoking engine. He risked his life to save hers, and I shudder to think about how this story would end if that kind gentleman had not kept subsequent cars from hitting her, if he had not guided her to turn off the engine, if the airbag had not deployed, or if she was not wearing a seatbelt. Thank you, sir, whomever you are.

I beat the ambulance to Stanford Hospital's world-class trauma center and spent the longest 20 minutes of my life waiting for an update. Fortunately, it could not have been better. The airbag had split her nose, which would require stitches, but triage and imaging indicated no serious injuries. She would be sore but recover fully in a few days. We spent the rest of the day in the ER as doctors did additional tests and a specialist sewed her nose up carefully to minimize scarring. Thank you, Stanford Hospital, where my daughter and I each entered the world, for taking such good care of Marnie.

We'll replace the car, her nose will heal, and the emotional trauma will fade with time and therapy. But as the famous quote attributed to Winston Churchill, among others, says, "never let a crisis go to waste."

You only live once meant something different to me before becoming a parent. It meant take the risk, spend the money, try the thing, make the leap. Now it means enjoy the moment, practice radical amazement, live fully, share freely, communicate openly. The nuance is minor, and it took my wife's near-death experience for me to recognize the change.

The trauma center in a major hospital is a scary and fascinating place to spend time. It is a non-stop flow of people who are in serious trouble. Many die. Some have family or friends; many do not. While Marnie was being evaluated by a doctor, I watched as a man, roughly my age, was brought in from an ambulance with a severe head injury. He didn't know where he was, he didn't know his name, and he claimed to have no family or friends to call. He had been found alone, unconscious in a pool of his own blood.

I gave Marnie a kiss and looked at a picture of our kids. What if they had been in the car? What if the airbag had been defective and Marnie hit the steering wheel? There are a million what-ifs and many millions of possible scenarios every hour of every day. Life is fickle.

Being alive is amazing. Our bodies turn air and food into energy that powers our muscles and let us move. The wrinkly meat in our heads give us thoughts, emotions, and feelings. Billions of unlikely occurrences brought us to this time, this place, and this reality. Just one can take it all away in the blink of an eye.

So today, on Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement, as I reflect on the year past and ways in which I failed to live up to my core values and evaluate ways in which I will do better in the year ahead, my mind wanders but continues to return to the same concept; YOLO. You only (get to) live once.

Express gratitude. Communicate love. Take responsibility.

Go on adventures. Explore the world. Teach others.

Maintain relationships. Connect with family.

Live fully.

*My experience driving down Woodside road, north on 101, and then south on 101 to the spot of the crash is a story to be shared over beers.