A clear reflection of myself through a broken mirror.

I recently experienced my first automobile fiasco. About a week and a half ago, early on a Wednesday morning, I was trying to pull into a tight parking spot at school, and in the process of trying to wiggle my way in, I knocked someone's side mirror off.

Calm under pressure as always, I did not flip out. I finished maneuvering myself into my spot, and then got out of the car to assess the damage. I walked around to the other side of the car, and sure enough, there was shattered glass on the pavement. I was hoping that maybe it was still in one piece, and I could just try to put it back in the casing, but it was not to be.

I couldn't just walk away, so my next course of action was to write a note to leave on the car. I should make a note here that it was raining. A constant drizzle. So I got back in my car to write the note, wondering how in the world leaving a note on the outside of a car was going to work, and not being able to find another option. I pulled out my flower paper, as it's known amongst some of my friends. I have a small, flower-shaped notepad that I carry around in my purse, should I ever need a bit of paper, and this was one of those occasions. I apologized profusely, briefly explained what happened, left my name and contact information, pledged to take responsibility for my mistake, and apologized profusely again. And then I stuck my apology-laden piece of flower paper on the windshield of the damaged car and watched it soak through before I could even walk away. I was happy I didn't use ink, but I was still concerned that it wouldn't be legible when the car's owner finally found it.

I went about the rest of my day, and while I didn't forget about what happened, it didn't worry me too much. (Of course, I did drive down to Georgia that night and saw my favorite band, so I was slightly distracted.) I didn't hear from anyone that day, and hoped that the first day's silence was a good sign, signifying that the car owner wasn't so steaming mad that they felt the need to chew me out immediately.

At some point the next day, I got a phone call from a number I did not recognize. I don't normally answer my phone if it's an unknown number, so I let my voicemail pick it up. I listened to the message, and it was a man saying he was calling about his daughter's car, and he asked me to give him a call back. What? I don't want to talk to somebody's dad! Dad's are intimidating! Especially when they're calling about their daughter's damaged car. If he had sounded the least bit irate, I wouldn't have dared to call him, but he didn't, so I gathered my courage sometime later and called him back.

I mentioned something about being cool under pressure earlier, right? Well, I am initially. And when the pressure isn't on me because of something I did wrong or a mistake I made. But by the time I actually talked to this guy, what I had done had had time to simmer, and the pressure was increasing. Especially when I knew I was going to have to talk to someone's father. I should have known right then that I was going to lose it, but optimist that I am, I figured I'd be all right.

I should also add, that before I actually called this guy, I called my insurance agent to let him know what happened and get his opinion about what I should do. His advice made sense: go ahead and call the guy back and see how much it's going to cost, because if the damage is insignificant enough, it might be easier to pay it myself, and keep it off my record, and avoid possibly raising my rates.

So finally on Friday, with that advice, I talked to "The Dad." He was never mean, but he sounded incredibly annoyed, and the longer I talked to him the worse I felt. He said he had had to replace the other mirror before and he told me how much that one had cost, and with that information, I told him I would call him back later when I figured out what I was going to do.

I talked to my parents after that, fishing for their opinion. They told me what they thought, and while I was processing everything, my mom could tell that I was feeling uneasy. Then came the first tears over the whole situation. They tried to be encouraging and explained why they weren't taking care of it for me, even though I never asked them to take care of it for me. It was my fault, not theirs. I calmed myself back down, and called the guy back to ask for some more information. He didn't like what I was asking him, and sounded even more annoyed. I immediately felt bad about asking him what I had and struggled to keep myself composed. Though he never said it in so many words, it seemed to me like he thought I was just a little girl who had no idea what she was doing, and really he was right. But I was trying. He asked for the name and number of my insurance agent, and I gladly gave it to him.

I don't know what I was expecting when I left that note on that car. Despite so much evidence and experience to the contrary, I still hold to the belief that there is good in everybody, and if you will be good to them, they'll be good to you. I was never expecting to be let off the hook, but I guess I was expecting whomever the mysterious car owner was to graciously thank me for taking responsibility for damaging their car and not running off without a second look back, like I so easily could have, and be eager to do whatever they could to work with me while I was trying to work with them.....I feel naive at least once a day.

I called my insurance agent back and he didn't answer, so I left a message. I told him that if he hadn't gotten one already to expect a call from "The Dad," and I told him that for my sake, it would be best if he could just handle everything. As I was saying the latter, I broke down again. Crying on the phone about a broken mirror. Can I get any more pathetic?

I cried for at least two hours. My pastor and his wife had invited all the young people at my church to their house that night, and my brother and I were supposed to be bringing drinks, so I tried to compose myself enough to leave the house. It worked for about 5 minutes. But I started crying again in the middle of Wal-Mart where we were getting drinks. I don't know why I hadn't picked up on it yet, but I was about to learn a big lesson about myself that I thought I had already learned and moved beyond.

I really needed that night with my church friends. People who are really and truly following Jesus are the most encouraging people I've ever met. It was really one of the first times I've had to hang out with any of them, so it ended up being a kind of get-to-know-you kind of night. At one point, after having told several things about myself over the course of the night, my pastor's wife said, "Emily, you're so sweet." And almost in the same breath, she started warning me about how easy it is to fall into a vicious cycle of people-pleasing, and I needed to get out of it as quickly as I could. All I could do was nod. I was almost dumb-founded that she picked up on that about me in just that short period of time. Hello, Holy Spirit. It's nice to see people actually listening to you, and letting you speak through them.

That was the first eye-opener, and I got another one the next day.

My mom thought I wasn't handling the situation very well, and she got upset on Saturday. So I got upset again. She asked me why in the world I wasn't sticking pu for myself and doing what she thought was so obvious. I asked myself that same question. I realized it was because I still felt bad about what I had done. I was feeling deeply guilty. Both times I had talked to "The Dad" on the phone, the only thing I could think was, "Of course he's annoyed. I messed up his car! It's a wonder he's not screaming at me." My mom said, "Why are you letting him intimidate you? You have to know you're worth more than that. You know that don't you?" I paused. Did I know that? I finally said, "I know it, but I don't always feel like it." "You've got to change that," said my mom.

I thought I was over this. This feeling that everyone else is right and I'm wrong, and it's my job to accommodate their every whim, and if I don't, I'm a bad person. I obviously have farther to go than I thought.

All this because of a little side mirror.

But I'm honestly glad it was a little side mirror that opened my eyes, rather than something much more serious.

P.S. My insurance agent eventually did talk to "The Dad," and he's been handling everything. I haven't heard from him or anyone else in a few days, so I assume everything's alright, and that the marred car is either being fixed or is already fixed. Thank the Lord for my insurance agent, and my grandmother who so graciously pays for my insurance every month.