I hate car fires.

I’ve never had a car that caught fire but the idea of them just makes me sad. My car has always been a safe place for me, somewhere I can not worry about things and listen to music or just let the wind blow through the windows and feel happy. I realize that feeling safe in a car is kind of silly, seeing how you’re more likely to get hurt in a car than anywhere else during a normal day but my general need for occasional alone time has always looked past that, and I drive safely and have a safe car. I think most people pretty much love their cars and feel safe in them so when it comes to then darn thing catching on fire it’s kind of devastating.

I saw one on the highway this morning on the way into work. It was a Chevy SUV and that’s a first for me because every car fire I’ve seen to date has been a Jeep Cherokee, four of them in total. Today’s fifth car fire sighting marks the end of my theory that Jeeps are the only trucks that catch fire. Either way, I came up to it just as the state trooper got there and what I saw wasn’t what I expected, but it probably should have been.

As I was driving by I saw the state trooper quickly rush out of his car and run immediately toward the truck which was completely engulfed in flames from the cabin forward and fling open the doors to look for someone inside. I’ve no doubt that it probably hurt and being that close to a fire that’s shooting out of a car about ten feet in either direction wasn’t pleasant but it was done completely without hesitation and it was kind of amazing.

Seeing an act of bravery is kinda rare since this part of the world is pretty tame compared to the rest but it shouldn’t be taken for granted. I thought about it for the rest of the way in and am sure it’ll be on my mind for a few more days and thankfully don’t have to think if it too often since dangerous situations aren’t happening everywhere around me all the time. I don’t think I’d have too many friends if that was the case.

Thank you to all of the people out there that have signed up for the kind of job that might force you to put others before yourself. You’re all real heroes.

Ahem. Hello. Hello? Are you there?

My car has been doing this to me for the past two years or so and I’ve been completely ignorant as to why. You know that little light on your dash that comes on when you pull the emergency brake (Usually the word “BRAKE,” brightly lit up right in the center) that is really hard to miss but easy to ignore cause the brakes are working and the emergency brake is off? Well, it’s not just for the emergency brake after all. I’ve had a couple other cars go through the same thing and I owe an apology to all of them.

Early on, about the time I started learning how to drive (coincidentally right around the time computer controls were introduced into pretty much every car), the silver station wagon I was driving (chick magnet) began to intermittently display its Brake! light (it actually had an exclamation point) but it would go off if you would forcibly slam the emergency brake down so my dad’s conclusion to this issue was that the sensor to tell the light to go on or off was faulty. This happened again with the next car I had and every car after that where the method to engage the emergency brake was a lever on the console. Four in total, including my current one.

Here’s the thing with that, or so I have come to learn since having this giant a-ha I’m a dumbass moment recently: your car might be in need of brake fluid if that light comes on as did mine and probably all the others that were screaming for it in the best way they could by illuminating that one particular light on the dash that should tell the idiot behind the wheel that if your emergency brake is off and your brakes are functional that THERE MIGHT BE SOMETHING ELSE WRONG.

My brakes were a little soft recently so I began to investigate, immediately jumping to the worst-case scenario that came with a four figure repair bill. I know a little about cars, enough so that I can read the labels on top of the caps and don’t put oil into the washer fluid reservoir. I understand how brake systems work (pressure, fluid, no air, contaminants bad!) and found out that my brakes were spongy due to my fluid levels being less than adequate (read: almost empty) and that my poor car had been trying to tell me this for quite some time. I know this because the moment I had filled the brake fluid reservoir to the little line with the word “max” next to it something wonderful happened—the brake light on the dash went off. Not only had I put myself in danger for a sizeable amount of time but my car was trying to tell me that I’m a dumb-dumb for not listening. In the politest possible way of course. It is a Honda after all.

I can safely say that the best advice my father ever gave me was RTFM. Which he seldom seems to do himself and why I seem to have fallen victim to his advice on other occasions.

I’m winding down my professional career as a designer and getting ready to ramp up a new one as a programmer. What kind of programmer I’m to become has not really presented itself yet but it’s plainly clear that after about 20 years working as a professional graphic designer I just don’t have the taste for it anymore and can’t see a future in it any longer. While I do enjoy the building of projects for people, those enjoyable projects have become few and far between and it seems like all the fun’s been taken out of it. I’m a bit sad but somewhat relieved at the decision to exit the field because I still do enjoy working to create with type and imagery, my future in that will come exclusively from a pure want to create and it’ll have to be the right project at the right time and not just because it’s my job.

I’ve seen the field change in some ways but what really got me was how it didn’t change and I never learned to accept how design in certain companies is viewed as a necessary evil of sorts and the opinion that decisions are largely arbitrary and can be made by anyone with the power to tell someone else to do it. There’s just no respect for design talent in certain companies and it’s left me cold. I’m tired of fighting a battle that will never be won and even if it was won, wouldn’t be worth it in the end.

Slowly but surely, I’m inching my way down towards my goal weight of 180 pounds, which would put me back at the weight I was before going away to college and from what I can remember, a very comfortable weight for my frame. I broke a three week plateau this week and hit 197. Along with running a mile in less than 9 minutes, I’d say it’s been a great fitness week. Still lots of work to do.

Dark.

Like times before when I laid myself out bare to the night, I find only questions with no answers. Questions about love, questions about money, questions about sex … the simple things. Questions that only bring about more questions until I’m faced with fatigue and cannot ask any more questions.

Night.

When I sit in silence, only the wind dancing with the trees and myself fixated on some unseen point in front of me, can I find some calm. Some rest. Some peace. And then come the questions.

But not tonight.

Tonight I find myself not asking any questions, for I’ve grown too old to be chattering on like a child with many years ahead of him, but demanding answers to the questions I’ve whispered into this very same night some time ago. I’m finding that the night is angry with me.

It has been providing answers all this time but I’ve not been paying attention, and that’s not a good way to get someone to want to help you.

Here I am, dear friend. Asking of you the same things I’ve asked before, but older and more determined. I pray the answers have not changed from years past but will accept my fate either way. You know my questions, please tell me again the why, the what and the whom.

I am listening.