Discovering our true self

It can take a long time time to discover who we truly are, the golden essence that makes up our core and sets our compass

It can take a long time time to discover who we truly are, the golden essence that makes up our core and sets our compass. It is this essence, the part of us that we can’t deny, that tells others whether or not we’re worthy of knowing.

Unfortunately, some people never discover their true worth, others have it ripped from them too soon through abuse or neglect, and some choose to bury it deep within booze, drugs, laziness or cowardice.

I would like to talk to the 20-year-old man who decided to drive his truck while intoxicated and with an 18-year-old woman in the passenger seat. He knew he shouldn’t be climbing into that truck and yet he not only placed his life and that of his passenger’s in danger, but the lives of everyone he drove past.

It’s not a mistake when you drive while under the influence — it’s deliberate and uncaring contempt. You’re a suicide bomber with a bulldozer strapped to your ass with no regard for anyone who steps into your path.

Fortunately, the only thing that jumped into this wreckless driver’s path (who police estimate was driving between 70 and 80 km/h on a corner where the speed limit is 30) was a tree. And this is where this man’s character comes into play.

He hit the tree with such violent force that his teenage passenger was not only pinned in her seat by the wreckage, but was screaming out in pain.

So what does he do?

He runs.

Seriously? A teenage girl is screaming in pain beside you (turns out she suffered a broken pelvis, ankle and femur) because of something you’ve done, and that selfish “come on be a bastard” voice in your head says, “run.”

If it wasn’t for neighbours who, awakened by the 2 a.m. crash, called 911 and rushed to the woman’s aid, who knows how long she could have suffered — or worse. This coward had no way of knowing if his passenger had suffered internal injuries that could have easily resulted in her bleeding to death.

He didn’t care if she lived or died.

He ran and hid until police dogs tracked him down.

This becomes the mark of his character, the stain that he will struggle to wash away. Of course, maybe I’m giving him too much credit. I don’t know him, so maybe his character is already so blackened that another stain just blends. It’s difficult to think of another reason why any man who calls himself such would abandon a woman in such distress.

But maybe he’ll prove me wrong.

Maybe, he’ll stand up, admit his cowardice and guilt, and offer an apology not just to his main victim, but to everyone whose life he put in danger by getting behind the wheel. M

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