The sun hung low in the crisp October sky, casting long shadows over the winding roads of NM-14, the ‘Turquoise Trail.’ The air was cool, the kind that makes you feel alive, and the hum of my motorcycle beneath me was a steady rhythm of freedom. I didn’t know it yet, but this ride would change my life forever.
I was riding with two friends, the three of us weaving through the scenic route in northern New Mexico, known for its breathtaking views and winding roads. The day was perfect, the kind that makes you forget everything but the present moment. But in an instant, everything changed.
As I approached a tight corner, I saw my two friends riding ahead and noticed a large white SUV preparing to turn left in our direction. I eased off the throttle, watching the SUV carefully. It allowed my friends to pass, so I assumed the driver had seen me too. Confident, I accelerated to catch up.
The SUV turned directly in front of me. My heart stopped. I was going 85 miles per hour, and there was no time to think—only react. I slammed the brakes, the tires screeching against the asphalt. The world blurred. The guardrail loomed closer. I veered onto the shoulder, the bike wobbling beneath me. Then, impact.
The SUV clipped my left handlebar, and the bike bucked violently. I was thrown sideways, the guardrail rushing toward me. My foot caught under the bike as it fell into a low side crash, dragging me across the pavement. The sound of metal scraping against metal filled my ears. Then, silence.
When the dust settled, I lay there, stunned. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath. I was alive. Somehow, I was alive. My hands trembled as I freed my foot from under the bike and stood up, my legs shaky beneath me.
I looked down at my shredded pant leg, the raw, torn skin beneath it. Blood trickled down my arm, and my jacket was in tatters. The pain hit me all at once, sharp and unrelenting, but it was nothing compared to the wave of gratitude that surged through me. I was alive. I could still stand. I could still feel.
As the shock wore off, the pain became unbearable, a searing fire that consumed every thought. I wanted to scream, to fight it, to make it stop. I wrapped my arms around myself, rocking back and forth to self-soothe. Strangers stopped to help, and my friends, realizing I was no longer behind them, returned to the scene.
Paramedics arrived about twenty minutes later. I begged for painkillers, but they declined. The pain was relentless, and I felt desperate for relief. Then, something shifted.
I remembered a lesson I had learned years ago, one I had practiced in moments of stress and discomfort: let go. Let go of the need to control. Let go of resistance to what is.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, surrendering to the pain instead of fighting it. I stopped wishing for it to go away and simply allowed it to be the way it is. And in that moment, something extraordinary happened.
I felt an overwhelming sense of joy and gratitude washing over me. Laughter and tears of joy welled up within me, and remarkably, I felt no pain or suffering. I was still aware of my injuries needing medical attention, and I could feel the physical sensations of the injuries in my leg and arm. Yet, I experienced no ‘hurt’ or distress; the sensations felt as ordinary as the wind on my face or the touch of clothing on my skin.
In its place, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace, as if I had tapped into something infinite and unshakable. I began to laugh, tears streaming down my face. The laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside, a pure, unfiltered joy that I couldn’t contain.
The paramedics, alarmed by my laughter and tears, thought I might have a brain injury. I assured them I was fine, explaining that I had been wearing a helmet and had no head trauma. They transported me to the hospital, where my wounds were treated.
Throughout the day, the euphoria stayed with me. Despite the circumstances, I couldn’t stop smiling and laughing. My joy even lifted the spirits of the medical staff attending to me. One technician remarked that my laughter had brightened her day, a reminder of how contagious positive emotions can be.
This experience taught me something profound about pain and suffering. Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. Suffering arises when we resist what is, when we fight against reality. By letting go of that resistance, I discovered a peace and joy that exists beyond pain—a state of being that is always present, untouched by life’s challenges.
On that October day, I found freedom—not from pain, but from the suffering I had unknowingly created. And in that freedom, I discovered a joy that no circumstance could ever take away.