Get out of the car

If you’re caught in a blizzard at night, let’s say your car – it breaks down. You’re stuck in the snow. It’s falling and it’s on the ground. It’s everywhere and freezing and dark and white. If you’re stuck like that, they say just wait. Stay in the car where there’s a little warmth and the snow isn’t falling. It’s safe, they say. You’ll die if you go out, but if you stay, you might live. Someone might come. There might be hope.

There’s always a ‘might.’ There’s no hope without a ‘might,’ and no ‘might’ without some misguided bit of faith.

Faith and ‘might’ are stupid and tenuous things for so much to ride on.

No. Get out.

Get out into the blizzard, and wrap your arms around yourself. Push through the snowdrifts and laugh when they put up resistance. Smile at your own arrogance through the icy onslaught, and curse the night with pride. Curse it with the narcissism of free will and sovereign self-determination.

Get out of the car because it’s not going anywhere, and the little bit of warmth inside is fleeting. It will slowly kill you as it turns to frost. Like frogs boiling in reverse. It will be dark, and while it may shield you from the snow, it won’t keep you from death.

Get out of the car and make your own way. Pass through the night and make footsteps in the snow drifts. They’ll be gone in the morning, but you will have made them nonetheless. The obstacles will forever be disturbed by your persistence and the warmth of your dying body, and you can fall face first into the abyss knowing the blizzard wasn’t so strong. It wasn’t so strong to keep you afraid and clinging to faith and a ‘might’ – cold, cold coffins when there are no headlights in the mirror. No sun rising on the horizon.

Get out of the car and threaten to kill yourself, with no forethought of ‘mights’ and no trust in faith. Get out of the car, and as your eyes freeze over and frostbite wicks in from your extremities, put a twisted grin on your face and lock your fists against the wind. Walk away from civilization. Let nature take its course. There’s a quiet dignity in selecting natural selection for yourself. There’s an uplifting arrogance in chastising Death for his tardiness and demanding his time on your own.

There’s a saying that tells you when you’re going through hell, keep going. That saying doesn’t promise survival. It just promises you’ll be dying on your own terms. So get out of the car. Look into the night. And trudge into hell.


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