Unexpected Joy

The car that invited me back to driving through joy.

Over the last six months since my accident, I’ve learned more than I ever wanted to know about cars, insurance, and just how broken some of our systems really are. I’ve learned how toxic greed can become when it gets woven into healthcare, insurance, and government. At the same time, I’ve met so many people working within those systems who are genuinely trying to help but feel just as stuck as I do.

I sat down with our mayor and the constable sergeant hoping to find a path toward getting a traffic camera installed at the dangerous intersection where my accident happened, only to leave with very little clarity about what comes next. I learned that someone with two prior DWIs can still carry insurance with a maximum payout of only $60,000, even after causing an accident with well over $100,000 in damages while blowing a .19 on a breathalyzer. I learned that it may take more than a year for my case to make it to court and that the woman who hit me is still legally allowed to drive.

To be honest, it’s all maddening.

But underneath all of that rage-inducing information was the lesson I wasn’t ready for. Joy has a way of finding us in places we don’t expect. And if we are really paying attention, it softens blows that never should have landed in the first place. It doesn’t erase what’s painful or unjust but it did remind me that there is more to the story unfolding in front of me.

While I was recovering in bed with a fractured leg and bruising so severe I couldn’t remember the natural color of my skin, I began researching to figure out what kind of car we’d replace after ours was totaled. I assumed I’d buy another Suburban since it was the car that saved my life. But as I sat looking at photos of the interior on my computer, something got triggered. My body tightened and my heart rate soared. I realized I couldn’t climb back into a vehicle that looked exactly like the one I had been trapped inside. In that moment I realized I didn’t just need another car, I needed an entirely different experience of driving.

That realization led me back to the Volkswagen ID. Buzz. I’d actually looked at one the year before, but it was well outside our budget. This time, I noticed prices had dropped because several had been sitting on dealership lots. Then I worried that could be a red flag, so I did what I always do when I’m looking through the lens of fear: I researched and pored over article after article before deciding it would at least be worth test driving one, even if only for fun.

I was still on crutches, so James drove while I climbed into the passenger seat. The moment he pressed the accelerator, I felt my heart flutter but this time it wasn’t the same kind of beating that put me back into the driver’s seat of the accident. This time it was unexpected joy and I laughed a genuine, childlike giggle. The ride was so smooth and quiet that I could feel my body soften. My four-year-old has a name for the happy and fun acceleration experience in our car now. Whenever we’re on a long stretch of open road she’ll ask, “Mommy, will you ‘go electric’?” Every time she says it, I smile.

As we sat there in the dealership talking through budgets and batteries and whether this was actually the right decision, my eyes wandered across the showroom. There, hanging above the display, was a large sign with a picture of the ID. Buzz. It simply read, “Joy just pulled in.” I felt tears well in my eyes. Joy isn’t just a feeling in our family. Joy is the name of the baby we lost in 2020. Since losing her, that word has carried a sacredness I can’t fully explain. It has become a quiet reminder that love continues, that grief and joy belong together, and that even after profound loss, life keeps inviting us back into the present.

Seeing those three words in that moment didn’t feel like a coincidence to me. It felt like an invitation to begin again. As I sat there, I remember thinking that I was being invited to drive again through Joy. There would be plenty of work ahead to get back into the car and face the reality that I will never be able to control the outcome of any car ride ever again, but I was not about to let trauma have the final word in my story. That day marked the beginning of a new chapter for me. Not because I bought a really fun car, but because I chose a different way forward. Instead of allowing fear to make every decision, I gathered enough courage to allow joy to lead one. And from that one comes another, and that’s how the feeling of agency returns.

The irony is, what has happened since then has been anything but easy. The car itself has become another chapter in this story, bringing its own frustrations, setbacks, and battles with insurance, dealerships, and corporate systems. AND… it hasn’t changed what happened in that showroom that day.

The gift I can see in all of it is the reminder that sacredness meets us even after trauma, especially after trauma. Joy still knows how to find us. Sometimes it arrives so quietly that we almost miss it, but if we’re paying attention, it shows up with a simple sign reminding us that life is still inviting us forward.