There is a semi-wrecked car in my front yard. Am I too nice?

Monday: There is a car in my front yard.
It belongs to a guy who lives somewhere in the neighborhood who police said was probably going too fast on the slippery roads and came within feet of hitting the only tree in my corner lot.
It was before 9 a.m. He was very distraught and didn't seem dressed for the weather...it was one of those sub-zero days we are all loving so much. He had on a thin hoody and sweats was older, older than me! He was very shaken up.
So, when he came to my door and it was freezing cold I didn't think. "Dude, you almost hit my tree!" I didn't say, "give me all of your contact information, right now Mister, you've torn my yard to shreds!"
Nope, I was concerned that he was safe and warm and wasn't hurt. I was worried about him and didn't  even get his name. I told him no worries and I was just glad he was OK. My focus was on making sure whether he needed help while calculating whether or not it was safe to invite him into my house to get warm or make a call because I was alone and in my bath robe.  (His other vehicle, a Ford Tundra which  a police officer said capable of pulling the car out of the ditch, was  idling in the street.)
The tactic agreement in this exchange was that I expected he would do the right thing and come claim his car out of my yard when the weather got warmer and the crisis passed and make an effort to make things right.
So, now, five days later, there is still a car in my yard.
I called the police because I thought they would place one of those stickers you see stuck on cars on the side of the highway and, soon, remove it from my property.  I was informed by the police that it is parked on private property....mine...I am responsible to tow it away if the owner doesn't come to claim it.
So, I suppose, within the next few days I'll have to play some kind of hard ball and tow the car, somehow notify the owner and say "pay me what I paid to tow the car or it is mine."
That makes me uncomfortable. I was just trying to be nice. But I had a different recent experience were I discovered that all that being nice has gotten me is screwed out of tens of thousands of dollars over the years. And, believe me when I say, I do not have tens of thousands of  dollars to be screwed out of. But it got me wondering is it ever wrong to be nice? Have I been too accommodating over the years because I wanted to be liked or because I was afraid to hurt someone's feelings? Or because I I thought I was protecting someone else? Would it have been so wrong to ask the guy for his name and numbers?
Tuesday: So, I started writing this post on Monday and now it's Tuesday. The nervous car driver came by while I was carefully stepping through the icy driveway to retrieve my garbage can so I didn't break a hip. He was nervous and apologetic and promised to get the car out of my yard.
He said he had lost three people he loved in the last six months, including his wife and his mother,  and hadn't gotten use to it all. For a minute, to be honest, I wondered if he was telling the truth. There was an instant when I took all of him in. He was still wearing the same clothes ill-suited for the weather.  His speech was difficult to understand because it seemed he didn't have in his teeth. He looked about ready to cry. So I looked him squarely in the eye and said "I'm glad your were OK" and "I know you'll do your best."
In that moment it felt like the right thing to do but I still wondered, stepping gingerly back down the driveway that I may well be the biggest sucker of all time.
Wednesday: I pull out for work and the car was gone. It was one of those moments where I couldn't help but smile and the sun seemed to shine a little brighter.  It may be overstating it but I felt like my faith in humanity had been in part restored. I had considered reconsidering my probably naive life outlook that assumes that basically people are doing the best they can. This recent lapse in faith has been tied directly to a particular person who never ceases to amaze me in their ability to be thoughtless and hurtful.
But here is the thing. I'm the one at fault in that case. Once, maybe twice, you give a person a chance. When it gets to be chance, five, six, 100, 200.....you have to take some responsibility. Or, more directly, I have to take responsibility. And action. That person is out of good will and good thoughts.
But my distraught driver? He had one chance. He did the right thing and I have never been happier to see tire marks in my yard.

Shout out to our reader (readers?) in Poland! Menopause is universal.
Seventeen countries and counting!
Mary M.

I learned a valuable LIFE lesson today. Please read my story.

Today was my scheduled ovarian cancer screening that I told all of our followers about a month ago.  It was just a routine screening at the University of Kentucky; free to any woman over 50 years of age (the senior discounts have begun.)  The screenings were also offered to younger women who have a family history of the disease.  The day I made this appointment was a bright, shiny day.  I had no idea I would be going to my appointment in the bitter cold and snow…and I scheduled it for 8:30am.  What was I thinking?  Even with hot flashes, this created stressor number 1.

I left my home at 7:00am to give myself enough time to get there and walk the stairs up to the third floor.  But, as luck would have it, construction had taken over Rose Street, which just happened to be the street I needed to get across to my appointment.  I drove for miles in circles that kept ending with signs that said, “Street closed.”  I was about to pull my hair out!  I even contemplated moving one of the signs…it was wood planks…it would be easy.  No one would know.  I could move it…drive by it…put the sign back in place…and no one would know!  

But, the police officer to my right, who seemed to know just what I was contemplating, shook his head “no” at me.  I waved and continued to drive all over the university campus until I found the magical street that got me to the correct building. This situation was stressor number 2.

At this point, I only had 10 minutes to get parked and up to the third floor.  SO, that meant I had to ride the elevator.  I don’t do elevators.  I have been known to do things people would find bizarre.  I love to hunt crawdads and fish, and ghost hunting and TV shows about ghost hunting are my favorite forms of entertainment.

Steve and Dave from Ghost Hunters-Steve and I share certain fears.  I told him I needed to get over my fear of flying, and he said, "Don't do it Kim...don't get on a plane."  

  
But, riding elevators is something I truly fear.  I can self-diagnose myself and link this irrational fear to several incidents that happened when I was younger (I should have been a psychiatrist,) but regardless, the fear is real. 

SO, I walked up to the elevator and pushed the “up” button.  The door opens and people are swarming around me to get on.  I looked in at all of the people and froze.  One really sweet woman said, “Are you alright sweetie?”  I said, “I am claustrophobic.  I have to get myself prepared to get on an elevator; otherwise I end up with a panic attack.”  The kind woman said, “I will ride with you.”  And, her husband laughed and said, “I know CPR…you will be fine.  Come on board!”  So, I did.  This was stressor number 3!

The couple talked to me, and they suggested I breathe.  Haha!  Was it that obvious?  I could not breathe.  They said my face was looking a little… “rosy.” But, we made it to the third floor just fine.  It took a few minutes for my heart to slow down and for my hot flash to subside, but I did calm down.    

After I signed in and filled out all of the necessary paperwork authorizing the clinic to do the screening, I reflected on my morning.  So what if I had a difficult time driving to the right building? So what if I had to walk a short distance (very short) in the cold to get inside of the building?  So what if I had to ride an elevator?   None of these stressors really mattered.  You see, the kind couple who rode up the elevator with me was dealing with so much more, and it did not dawn on me until that very moment.  She had a scarf on her head, and she was at the cancer clinic.  That very kind lady was dealing with cancer.  And, her amazing husband was not only there for her, he extended his kindness to me under all of that stress.  In that moment, I felt shame.  In that moment, I felt warmth and kindness.  In that moment, I felt blessed.  In that moment, I thanked God for my life.

I don’t know if that kind couple will ever see this, but if you do, please know that you inspired me like nothing ever has today.  I will keep you both in my prayers.

Have any of our readers ever felt like a whiney baby when every little thing doesn’t go your way?  Share your story with us. 

May your hot flashes be mild and your wrinkles even milder.
Kim York