BACKSTORY

A person and their vehicle are broken down by the side of the road.

Some of you might feel the inner desire to pull over, interrupt your own day, and try to help that person.

I won’t.

Ever.

Before you start judging me for being a horrible citizen, unwilling to offer assistance to a fellow human, let me tell you a story.

When a person appears to need help, whether on the side of the road or in a parking lot with their hood up, a wild and crazy physiological transformation happens in my body. A shiver runs through me, causing my stomach to twist into a tight knot. I lose any thought of breathing. My throat goes dry and my ability to swallow is lost in time. My mind turns into a vast desert, full of nothingness, despair, and decay. I forget about the road or that I’m driving a partial ton vehicle. I’m lost.

Crazy what can happen in a split second, huh?

This energy transfer is related to a past experience I once had encountered. A backstory if you will. What you may not know about me, is that I used to help those stranded people. I felt as though it was my duty to help those less fortunate or those simply having a bad day. Once, just once, was all it took to never act so cordially again.

I was around eighteen when it happened. A boy about my age was stranded in a parking lot. He was frazzled. When I asked if he needed help, he pointed and explained his empty gas tank. I was young, strong, and apparently…stupid. I offered him a ride to the gas station where he could purchase a can and gas and get moving along again. It was my duty to help, right?

 As soon as we pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road, he pulled a gun and shoved it into my ribcage, yelling for me to get onto the highway.

To say the least, when he gave me an order, a heatwave flushed my cheeks. Frankly, I got mad. That young, strong, and stupid kid had a thought–I would kick his ass. He was small and weak. I worked out. I knew I could take him. When I refused his order and passed the highway entrance ramp, (remember that gun that was jammed into my ribs through my t-shirt?) I heard the click.

Something weird happened when I heard that hammer snap into place while pressed against my skin. I winced. I actually winced as though a bullet sliced through my chest and blew out the driver’s door. Seriously. I looked out my open window. Did I really expect to see a bullet pierce the metal and maybe kill another innocent bystander? I don’t know. Minds do crazy things when in duress.

The click and wince got me so fired up, I was about to turn Mr. Hyde on that boy. You see, I was bit angrier and more aggressive back then, which means, I wanted more than ever to kick that kid’s ass. In half a second, I swore I could do some kind of Die Hard maneuver and decided to slam into the cement viaduct under the highway bridge and pin him in the passenger seat, so I could punch him repeatedly in the face. It seemed like a great plan that I didn’t follow through with. Instead I pulled into a crowded parking lot and yelled out the window that I was being help up at gunpoint. The details thereafter were less dramatic, so we’ll move forward.

He took off, got caught, went to jail. Bla, bla, bla.

(On a side note, I didn’t die. I wasn’t even shot. For whatever reason, the police officer told me that the gun jammed. They found it with a bullet stuck in the barrel.)

That kid changed my life forever. Because of one bad apple, I won’t help stranded motorists. Will they hurt me? Are they actually in need?

An author named Lisa Cron, deciphered one of many backstory concepts as, The Third Rail. She says it usually occurs early in life and defines our reaction to a similar situation. The third rail, like on a train track, is the driving force behind your life. Based on my hijacked story, I will never go out of my way for a stranded bystander; however, your driving force behind why and how you respond to something might be completely different. I’ll give you an example.

Let’s say when you were eleven, you asked your parents for help. It was simple. A school science project was assigned to you on Wednesday, and due the following Monday. “Mom. I need your help. Please.” Every day for four days you asked and asked, getting frustrated that the project was too difficult. “Help.” Except, mom and dad were working seventy-hour work weeks to feed the family and pay the bills. They couldn’t give you their time until Sunday afternoon, a few hours before the project was due at nine on Monday.

            The project failed and you felt your parents failed you. At that moment you decided to never ask for help again. You could do it all on your own—Third Rail. You spend the rest of your life never asking for help, no matter how deep the waters.

We all have a reason for what we do and why we do it. We can blame our parents or our school teachers, or a coworker or boss; but there’s always a reason for how we react and respond to a situation. What’s yours?

Today, I challenge you to find a “reason why you are the way you are” by examining the one moment in your life that changed you forever.

Good luck!