View from my mom's security cam the next morning...
Leaving my mama’s house in Birmingham is never just “grab your stuff and go.” It’s a whole production. Lights check. Air check. Doors check. That quiet moment in the driveway where you mentally say, Alright Atlanta… here we come.
But this particular departure had a little pre-show chaos.
Because somehow… every single person I had called earlier in the week decided that the exact moment I was preparing to leave was the perfect time to return my calls.
Phone ringing. Voicemail notifications lighting up. Callbacks rolling in like a group text that suddenly came alive.
The third call though… that one mattered. It was about a new project I’m working on. So I made a grown-up decision.
“Let me take this call before I get on the road.”
I wanted to make sure I wasn’t distracted while driving and forgot to do something important.
Y’all know the life I live. A thousand plates spinning at once.
So I’m trying to do better these days. Trying to slow down just enough to keep the chaos from driving the bus.
That call put me 30 minutes behind schedule.
Now it’s a mad dash.
Lights off. Air off. Final glance around the house. Trash bag in hand.
Okay. Time to go.
I’m heading to the car when my phone rings again.
Anthony.
Now I already know what this call is. He just wants to make sure I’m safe on the road. A quick check-in before I hit the highway.
I tell myself, Okay Kari… don’t get distracted.
So I answer while I’m walking down the ramp, suitcase rolling beside me, trash bag in the other hand, keys hooked between my fingers. Trash goes in the can. We’re still talking as I do one last look around. The kind you do before leaving someone’s home. I slide into the car, still on the phone, take one more glance around the driveway and say a quick prayer before hitting the road.
“Amen.”
“Amen,” Anthony echoes back.
Engine on. And off I go. In my mind, I’ve done everything.
Somewhere along the highway the first standstill hits. Cars frozen in formation like a long metal train that forgot how to move. At first I felt the usual reaction rising up. Ugh. Traffic. So I turned the engine off, leaned back, and opened Facebook while we waited. Then a thought crossed my mind. The people involved in the accident ahead would swap places with me in a heartbeat.
Suddenly the frustration disappeared.
Because the longer traffic stays frozen, the heavier the reality usually is. When cars aren’t moving for forty-five minutes, it’s rarely something small.
Around me, people started losing patience. Drivers trying to ride the shoulder. Some creeping into the path where emergency vehicles needed to come through. Folks getting out of their cars and walking around.
Watching it all unfold felt different this time. I just sat there.
Grateful I wasn’t the reason traffic had stopped. Grateful that nobody in my family was getting a call they didn’t want to receive.
Also quietly thankful I didn’t drink all that Buc-ee’s fruit punch before the standstill started.
Forty-five minutes later, traffic finally began to move again.
Then came round two heading into Decatur.
This one was what officers call pacing. Pacing is when police block lanes ahead of an accident and slowly drive down the highway to control the speed of traffic. Everyone behind them has to crawl along at about ten or fifteen miles per hour until they pass the scene safely.
Necessary? Absolutely. But it will make you sigh a long uuugh while you’re doing it.
Eventually a bypass opened and traffic cleared out. After that it was smooth sailing all the way back home.
I pull into the driveway. Turn the engine off. Start gathering my things. Phone charger. Purse. Snack bag.
Then it hits me.
Where is my suitcase?
And suddenly the entire movie reel of the evening starts playing back in my head. Rolling the suitcase down the ramp. Talking on the phone. Taking the trash to the can. Saying that quick prayer before leaving. Getting in the car. Driving 250 miles away. Without ever putting the suitcase in the trunk.
Now what do you do at two in the morning? Call a friend? Call family? Yeah… not happening.
So the next morning I checked my mom’s security camera. And there it was. My suitcase. Dead smack in the middle of the driveway. Just sitting there like it had been patiently waiting for me to come back and finish the story.
Thankfully my wonderful nephew who lives around the corner came and secured it until my next trip. Crisis averted.
But here’s what stayed with me.
Two traffic pileups. One forgotten suitcase. Zero catastrophe.
My car wasn’t the one that caused the standstill. My family didn’t receive a tragic phone call. My belongings were still right where I left them.
Some people see inconvenience. I saw covering.
Sometimes patience grows out of gratitude. The quiet kind that reminds you that being safe is a blessing people in those accidents would trade for in a heartbeat.
And the lesson whispers the same thing it always does.
Slow down, Kari. Don’t be me. But also remember this truth. I’m covered!
Next trip, the suitcase goes in the trunk first.
Promise. 🚗✨
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