Life is never quite what one expects.

I spent my day in the very small town referenced in this post below. The first part of the day was pretty much an average business day for me, except that I was able to spend it with a dear friend who is also a client, making it an above average kind of day. But just as we were preparing to head back to the big city, our manager contact in the small town learned that his employee has been involved in a serious head-on collision while driving a company truck.

The manager is a tough man who has spent a lifetime in a tough business, in a part of Texas that isn't exactly fluffy. That only made the seriousness of the situation even more clear as he had to visibly gather up his courage before heading out to the site of the crash. We went out there as well to provide any help we could. What felt like a bit of an adventure as we made our way out there became something very different as we walked toward the scene.

There were onlookers aplenty, even on this near-deserted country road. And the local paper was there, photographing the helicopter that took one of the injured parties to a hospital. But my stomach felt as if it has been punched when I saw the twisted metal of the two large trucks that collided, hitting each other so hard that the one with the long trailer attached spun 180 degrees, as if it was heading back in the direction from which it initially came. Thankfully, our client's employee, who was in that truck, is going to be fine, after his broken bones heal. Unfortunately, the guy in the other vehicle is around 25 years old and his wife is expecting their first child in a few weeks; the last report we heard was that he remains in an intensive care unit.

There is a humanity in that kind of moment that reminds you of how petty the everyday disputes are--even including the matter on which we were working today. Everyone at the scene was conducting their job professionally, but there was a sobriety about their manner that seemed to indicate that everyone was thinking something to the effect of, "There but for the grace of God go I," or whatever that saying is.

As I watched the journalist talk to the players, and his photographer record the visual details of the scene, I thought about whether I am cut out for that kind of work, as it is something I have seriously considered as an alternative to the law. I thought the answer to that question was no while I was in the throes of my visceral reaction to the smashed trucks. Covering stories like that, or worse, must be too depressing over time, I reasoned. But by the time we left the scene, I realized there isn't much that would make a person appreciate being alive more than being a part of that kind of scene on a regular basis, and that if one was able to write about it in such a way as to make others who were not there take a moment to appreciate the freshly bloomed flowers of life, that might be something worth doing.

It's something to ponder.