The Roadkill Metaphor

(My First MySpace Blog, 11/11/05)

If you have not experienced one yet, let me assure you that you will eventually in your lifetime come across moments that I refer to as roadkill incidents. While driving in Southern Louisiana, it is not unusual to spot a mangled mass lying bloody near the edge of a roadway--dogs, cats, skunks, opossums, and armadillos whose lives were cut short by passing traffic. From one hundred feet away, the carcass can be seen (and sometimes smelled) coming up in the distance. Of course different people have different reactions to situations like this. Some drivers keep their eyes glued to the wretched heap, hoping for the fleeting glimpse of mutilated innards and maggots, even going as far as to point out to their passengers that death is approaching, and they should check it out. I, on the other hand, am not into self-inflicted torture. I won't even flinch if my daughter is in the car with me, never mentioning it to her in an attempt to shield her, hoping that she won't notice the remains of the poor animal we are soon to pass. Instead of glaring at the blood, I face forward, concentrating on the road ahead of me and pretend that there's nothing there.

There are moments in life that are very similar to this situation: seeing an ex-lover with his or her arm around another more attractive than you are; sitting in a church watching your high school sweetheart marry your best friend; the only single friend you have left saying that he or she has finally fallen in love and has decided to marry while you're still struggling to meet someone half-way decent; your divorced parent snuggling with a stranger on the couch while you all watch a movie together. These are all roadkill incidents. You may not experience something exactly like these, but you will, I promise, experience something similar at least once in your lifetime. You see the mangled mess coming from a hundred feet away, and you have one of two choices to make: point and stare, waiting for the blood and guts or face forward, never flinching, and concentrate on the road ahead. My advice to you when the choice is laid in your lap: look away, man, look away. It's a lot less painful.