Most of the time, my life is predictable.
I make decisions based on a pretty good sense of what impact my choices will have, and I generally feel like I know what will happen next. I like to figure things out and feel like I have some control. And I’m not easily surprised. But once in a while, a seminal moment comes along that knocks me onto my bottom and I am left to stare in awe and simply say, “I did not see that coming.”
For one who thinks she knows everything, for one who thinks she has some control over what happens next because she is so intuitive and has a pretty good sense of the impact her choices will have, those seminal moments have the power to stop time.
Once, I thought I knew exactly where I was going and I ended up waist-deep in a freshly fertilized rice paddy. I was riding a bicycle next to a friend on a remote road in China, and our handlebars got tangled. I leaned away to disengage my bike, thinking I had plenty of room to keep going forward, but suddenly my bike started heading down a steep slope. My brain stopped, I made no effort to slow my speed, I just let it happen, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting in the mud with all of my things scattered around me. My journal from that time still has the dirt marks on it from flying out of my front basket and landing next to me. After that, I always carried that journal in a plastic sandwich bag so at least it wouldn’t get wet, should I unexpectedly crash again.
I did not see that coming.
And then later, as I wrote about last time, when I found myself standing with my friend in another unfamiliar place in China, I did not know what was going to happen next. We were surrounded by military men, some holding weapons, and the old-fashioned camera film they had asked to retrieve was flapping in the wind. Exposed.
This experience formed the basis of a core belief of mine, and it was also seminal.
I don’t know how long we stood in that little cemetery, but it had been late afternoon when we arrived, and the sun was starting to sink. For the first time, I noticed some little buildings near where we were standing. The soldiers made some movement to suggest that we should go into the building, but we declined, frozen where we were. By the time we saw a military vehicle heading down the road toward us, it was dark enough to squint at the brightness of their headlights shining in our eyes.
Some exchange happened between the low-level military men who apprehended us, and the next-level military men who took us and somehow communicated in such a way that we realized we had no choice but to get into that car. We did, and I felt a sense of relief when we headed toward the school where we both taught English. The car entered the gated driveway, but when it reached the courtyard in front of our apartment, they didn’t let us out. They paused just long enough for another person to enter the vehicle, and, just as another of our fellow teachers walked up to the car to find out what was going on, they sped away.
I vaguely remember calling out something like, “Help, I don’t know where they are taking me,” but some of those details are blurry now, almost 20 years later. I do remember a few key things happening after that, the way a person with a concussion can remember flashes of being injured after the amnesia passes.
I remember it was dark by the time they took us to a more formal conference room at a military building to begin questioning us. I remember I was starting to get tired by the time they walked my friend and me to a nearby hotel and separated us into different rooms to question us more. They used non-violent interrogation techniques on both of us for hours, asking exactly how many pictures we had taken, what direction we were facing, and why we had gone to visit the military barracks.
I did not see that coming.
I had no idea the little, unmarked, tan buildings near the cemetery had anything to do with the military. But suddenly, they believed we were spies taking pictures of their army post, and while they had my film as proof I didn't, my friend had destroyed any evidence when she unraveled her film in that one, seminal, impetuous moment.
Again and again, they asked the same questions. Over and over. Again and again. They lit cigarettes, blew the smoke in my face, began again. The same questions.
Just as I was beginning to wonder what exactly was going to happen next, and would I stay in that hotel room forever, there was a change. There was a flurry of people coming in and out of the room, taking my picture, maybe even taking my fingerprints, I can’t remember. Next time I’ll explain what happened next, but in that moment, I knew, some moments are seminal. Some are unpredictable. And life can change in a matter of seconds.
I didn’t see it coming, but I was about to learn that I wasn't in control.
And it was going to be OK.