Burnouts are rarely explosive. They are, at least in my experience, a slow death: a numbing of the soul, a loss of emotional capacity, an unyielding tolerance for pain. Sometimes it’s so slow that you don’t even realise you are on fire until you begin melting.
And like getting into it, recovering from burnout is rarely a quick fix, but requires gentle, patient work.
I heard the car crash before I could see it.
It was unmistakeable: the honking, screeching of brakes… a pause… then gnashing of metal on metal. The ingredients for a disaster. As I stopped and turned around on my bike to see, the cars were already in contact, the dents had been made, and the drivers, an elderly Asian man, and a younger female brunette, were getting out of their cars.
I grimaced a little as the drivers approached each other. I hate seeing strangers fight: there is so much goodness to uncover in each other, and choosing conflict is such a shame. Luckily, from what I could see, the drivers suffered no major injuries. There would be no ambulance calls today – at least not here.
The two drivers approached each other at different speeds. The elderly man kept his hands open and walked slowly. “Are you hurt?” I heard him ask. I noticed he walked with a slight limp. The brunette, ignoring the question, rushed out, giving her defence, explaining how she didn’t see, was in a hurry, that he should’ve seen. The elderly man again asked, “Are you hurt?” It was like watching peace and chaos personified.
Slowly the younger brunette realised the question. Oh no, she seemed to imply, then the elderly man went to inspect his car. Rubbing his hands over the dent, it seemed as though he were patting an animal, so gentle was his touch. The brunette was still talking during this time, gushing apologies, explanations, how she has insurance. But the elderly man didn’t match her energy. He simply gave her a smile, waved her down, and like magic, her anxiety seemed to fade. She slowed down, inspected her own car, which had some scratch marks, but was otherwise well, and scratched her head. The man said something to make her laugh. She began to smile more herself, and uncrossed her arms. They began to exchange details and I swear if the cars weren’t there, it would’ve looked like a natural exchange between friends. It was, to my surprise, one of the most anticlimactic crashes I had ever seen.
I thought of the elderly man as I rode off. I thought of his open arms, the concerned look on his face, not for the car, but for the woman, and his smile. How quickly the conversation became civil and peaceful.
A little warmth in a tense situation can go a long way.