I Was Crushed By an 18-Wheeler. But I Wouldn’t Change a Thing About That Day.
How a gruesome brush with death made me wake up to the world.
![](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_5760,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fe8c04847-db4a-4a34-8828-eea8de7005b6_2048x1152.jpeg)
Illustrations by Maggie Chiang
October 2, 2007 was an unbelievably beautiful day. The smell of fall was in the air, the sky a deep blue, and there was no one on the streets. It was so quiet I could almost hear the terrible things said during the fight I had with my boyfriend the night before echoing through my head. I gripped my handlebars tightly and tried to outrun the negativity I felt. I hated myself for getting into a screaming match about something as insignificant as dinner, but I hadn’t been able to control myself. I was so stressed because of my new job in finance. I had sweet-talked my way into a position I was pretty sure I wasn’t qualified for, and lived in constant fear of my boss finding out I was a fraud. My pedals felt as heavy as my heart as I circled my Brooklyn neighborhood, but they got lighter with each block. About a half hour into my ride, the sun was starting to rise over the low buildings on Vandervoort Avenue. I decided that watching the sunrise as I rode out …
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