Sirens and gratitude

Whenever I come into contact with sirens of police, fire, or ambulance, I have a moment of gratitude that whatever they are racing to does not involve me. We live close enough to a few main roads that sirens are not that uncommon.

Eating dinner on the back porch and hear them in the distance. Grateful to be here with my family, safe and fed.

Laying in bed. Grateful to be here, snuggled, warm, safe.

Stuck in traffic. Grateful to be late instead of crashed.

At a previous job, I commuted in to the city with traffic in the mornings. One day I shared on social media, “Getting to work this morning sucked. But compared to dying in a fiery crash on the freeway, sitting in traffic for over an hour isn’t too bad.”

I also hope that whoever is interacting with the sirens has a positive experience, relative to what the situation is. Racism, transphobia, and other issues baked into the system means that not everyone is going to be treated the same. It doesn’t affect me directly, but anything that affects some of us indirectly affects all of us.

Cheers to another day without the sirens being for me.

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