It isn’t clear to me whether the long-time wife of an acquaintance was killed because she fell asleep at the wheel or lost her bearings as she wandered into the oncoming lane while driving up the Coast Highway in the early morning fog.   It was a horrific tragedy, leaving so many behind to grieve her loss, so many who loved her.

At times I blame machines, how they get bigger and faster, and harder to control.  More to the point, what we humans dream up and build for our convenience and amusement often destroys the natural world we live in, and in a horribly circular way destroys ourselves as well.  Sometimes I think I would fit in well with the Amish, whose distaste for the over-mechanization of modern life matches my own proclivities.   I even find the simple-shirted, suspender look appealing, let alone that forever stylish straw hat, and although I don’t think I would mind surrendering this wonder of machinery known as a MacBook Air, I am not sure if Amish codes of conduct would permit me to use my beautiful old Royal typewriter instead, and my handwriting has deteriorated almost beyond recognition.  

But the hardcore reality is that life is dangerous even for the Amish, who likely must watch out for their kids getting run over by a horse-drawn carriage or kicked in the face by the irritated horse who was forced into drawing it.

While it isn’t certain, it is likely that alertness had something to do with Joel’s wife’s demise.  It is that very thing, or should I say the lack of that very thing, that I imagine is the root of more tragic deaths than any other thing.   It is one reason that so many physicians these days are taught to inquire about sleep, and why we are inundated with articles about its importance for health.   It is why air traffic controllers and commercial pilot unions insist on regulating the length of shifts, and why we are advised not to get too close to heavy machinery or drive while under the soporific influence of even mild over-the-counter medications.

I would, however, like to stake a claim that there are a few things for which alertness is not a benefit.    Counter-intuitively, I certainly could not write these words were it not for my chronic insomnia and resulting somnolence.   In the truly rare moments I feel fully awake, alert and able to take on life’s slings and arrows, I am unable to sit at a keyboard and find the patience or even the ability to put a reasonable sentence together.     It may be a simple case of classical conditioning, but writing anything other than a brief, semi-formal, slightly nasty email while wide awake is as far-fetched as pole-vaulting my way over Cincinnati.   Even the thought of being hyperbolic while fully awake seems quixotic.

I won’t step foot in a cockpit, however, without being sufficiently caffeinated and at my highest level of alertness.   That is one reason I am deeply opposed to fearlessness, because it leads to a deadly lack of vigilance.    Fear is our friend for many reasons, and not the least of which is that it keeps us awake.    “Keep the dynamite dry,” I once heard spoken on a business call with a private equity guy.   I had to look that one up after the phone call and discovered that the phrase likely emanated from “keep the powder dry,” an injunction given to soldiers to ensure that their gunpowder was going to be effective when it came time to blow someone’s head off.

Boy Scouts have less pithily endorsed the motto “be prepared.”   Preparation is one thing, I suppose, but vigilance is quite another.   Keeping the dynamite dry to me means more than being prepared.   It means that perhaps each of us may add a few more years to our wretched lives by remaining vigilant.   In aviation lingo, the 3-word mantra is “see and avoid.”  

I am being pressured now to get out of bed and hit the road.    Need to take a shower, and down my fourth cup of coffee.    Damn it’s hard.  But before I do, and before you mockingly point out in the comments below that I choose to drive cars and fly airplanes, just hold off while I compose my next blog post on the value of hypocrisy.