Not My Time

Two near-miss moments that reminded me how fragile life really is.

There are two moments in my life when I came face-to-face with how thin the line between living and not living can be.

The Lot

The first was on an ordinary evening, walking toward the back door of my building with my boyfriend. A car shot down the street in reverse. I started forward, curious, but he pulled me back. A second later, I heard the unmistakable whiz of a bullet by my ear. That sound doesn’t happen unless it’s frighteningly close. Inches. Maybe feet. One step forward, and I might not be here to tell this story.

The Lake

The second happened on a summer day at the lake. I was floating just inside the roped-off swimming area, far from shore where I couldn’t touch bottom. A boat towing a water-skier cut too close, and I realized the skier’s swing would take him straight toward me — the tow rope stretched tight at neck height. There was no way I could outswim it. My only chance was to dive. At the last second, I went under, and I heard the rope slice through the water just above my head. If I hadn’t gone down, I don’t want to think about what would have happened.

Both moments replay in my mind sometimes. Was it luck? Was it instinct — that fight-or-flight response our bodies are wired for? Or, if you believe in something greater, was it protection, a test, a reminder that my time isn’t finished yet?

I don’t know the answer. But I do know this: in both moments, I survived. I passed. And I think about the people who don’t — people who are just as alert, just as alive, yet their stories end in that instant. That thought humbles me.

So I carry these near-misses not as fear, but as a reminder. Life is fragile. Every day is a gift. Maybe my survival was just chance. Maybe it was grace. Maybe it was purpose. Whatever it was, I’m still here — and I still have more to do.“

✨ Sometimes the only explanation is the simplest one: it just wasn’t my time!