"Chance is the pseudonym God uses when he doesn't want to sign his name." ~ Anatole France
Someone once said that a brush with death brings out the better person in us. The transcendental and goal-oriented self. A brush with death is supposed to refine our awareness on how fragile life is.
Yet, I know someone who survived a plane crash. Looking at the chances of surviving a plane crash in the sixties (19%), you’d think that he had taken life by the horns, gotten himself a day-job or something, AT LEAST just to keep his boat afloat.
He did not.
He’s actually right where he was forty years ago; beside a crashed life with too many chances missed, and amendments too late. I feel so sorry for him that I can’t help but wonder if it should’ve been someone else...
Did it make a difference?
Would we have made a difference if we were in his shoes? Would it have made a difference if we survived plane crashes every day?
Or do we just get used to the fact and begin to take ourselves, our lives, for granted as soon as forgetfulness erodes our bruises?
