A Moment Like This

In every person's life, there is a defining moment that forever alters the course of their life. Some of us are lucky enough to remember it, so that we can pinpoint the exact moment our paths veered off in another direction.

My question to you all is: what was this moment for you? Have you experienced it yet? Did you embrace it or reject it? Do you cling to what might have been or did you leap into the future with no regrets? Have you discovered the consequences of it or are they still developing?

Here is my story.

My life changed forever on the morning of September 11th 2000, a year to the day before America was attacked by terrorists. I was on my way to work, talking to my boyfriend and listening to the radio. The sky was clear blue. A college student on a cheerleading scholarship, I had the world at my fingertips.

And then, in an instant that seemed to last a lifetime, my world exploded. Two tractor-trailers barreled across the highway median, slamming into my four door sedan. The angle of the collision sent the engine into my lap. My legs were crushed by burning metal. I was barely alive. My boyfriend, the driver, appeared to be dead.

For 40 minutes, paramedics worked to free us from the burning wreckage of my tiny car. Finally, they freed us and I was air-lifted to the nearest hospital. I floated in and out of consciousness, barely clinging to life. When I finally woke up in the ICU, I found myself in unbearable pain. I cannot explain to you how badly I hurt. There are simply no words. When the doctors finally told me the extent of the damage, I grieved for all I had lost. My college scholarship was gone. My life was over. I prayed for death.

My boyfriend didn't die. In fact, his injuries were far less grievous than mine. He left me when they told him that his girlfriend would be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life. He'd fallen for a healthy, athletic sorority girl. I was no longer that girl. I might never be again.

Miraculously, his betrayal led to my recovery. My fighting spirit returned to me when I realized what I had left to fight for: family, friends, a career. Cheer-leading might have been behind me but I had so much more. I've never been one to accept the word "no" or "you can't." When they told me I'd never walk again, I scoffed. The hell with that: not only would I walk again, I'd run. I'd do splits. I'd show them.

I spent the next two years in intense physical therapy relearning how to walk. I learned how to cope with daily pain that they said would never go away. It still hasn't. But I continue to fight it. I continue to deal. I refuse to be controlled by it.

Eighteen months after the accident, I took my first unassisted steps. I remember walking into the kitchen of my parent's home. My mom looked up from the table and saw me standing there; tall, strong and proud. She started crying, much like a mother watching her toddler learn to walk might do. Only this was ten times more intense. I had defied the odds. I had proven the doctors wrong. I had regained the use of my legs.

It's been almost ten years since the accident and I still haven't learned to run. But I learned so much about myself. I learned that I am strong. I learned that I am a fighter. I learned that doctors are not always right.

I also learned that everything happens for a reason and that there are no accidents. I see the world in an entirely different light now. I value my friends and loved ones. I don't take people for granted. Every moment is precious and I know that.

Before the accident I did what was expected of me. I was good at gymnastics so I pursued a cheer-leading scholarship even though my true love was always writing. I went to the college my parents chose for me, dated the boys they thought were appropriate, and majored in something my parents thought would lead to a "respectable" career. I didn't think about what I wanted so much as what they thought was good for me.

Almost dying proved to me that I needed to live for me. And so now I do. I went back to school and studied film and creative writing. I took off for California and found an agent to represent me. I worked on a couple of movies, sold a few scripts, befriended the "bohemian" people my parents would never accept, but who I connected with. I stopped caring so much about what other people thought and focused more on what I cared about.

And now here I am, about to marry my soul mate (a man of a completely different ethnic background than myself) and move to Australia. The old me would already be married to a respectable, white Christian man whom I liked but didn't love, settled down in a suburban McMansion with a kid or two and a dog. I'd be on the PTA, driving to soccer practice or playgroup, and living a generally miserable life. I know I wouldn't be a screenwriter getting married to the love of my life.

What seemed to be a tragic event led to living the life I always dreamed of. Sometimes there is beauty in tragedy... if only you know how to find it.