A Developer's Near-Death Crash and What Surviving It Actually Changes

Today I'm not talking about tech; I want to share something that happened to me over the past few months.

Three months ago, I was riding an electric scooter when I had a traffic accident with a large vehicle.

The moment of impact, for the first time, I felt so clearly that I might really be about to leave this world.

From childhood to adulthood, I had never been so close to death. That feeling is hard to describe precisely — not entirely pain, nor just fear. It was more like a sudden realization that all those unfinished plans, unspoken words, and things I always thought I'd have a chance to do later might never have a "later."

After the accident, I spent over a month in the hospital. With injuries to my head and multiple parts of my body, my entire life suddenly shifted from normal operation to examinations, treatment, rest, and waiting.

For me, it was a long and chaotic period. For my parents, it was probably the most terrifying time of their lives.

Seeing their worry made me truly understand that an accident doesn't just injure one person. One person lying in a hospital bed pulls an entire family into the ordeal. You endure physical pain; your parents endure the fear of losing you.

Today marks exactly three months since the accident.

My body is slowly recovering, and life is gradually returning to its original track. But some things are no longer the same as before.

During this time, I've repeatedly thought of a saying:

People can't choose how long they live; we can only choose how we live.

Before, when I heard this, I thought it was just a reflection on life. Only after truly experiencing an accident did I realize it's no longer a light, comforting phrase, but a fact that everyone must face sooner or later.

We can plan our lives, but we cannot guarantee tomorrow

In the past, like many people, I always felt that life could be arranged slowly.

Finish today's work, solve tomorrow's immediate problems, wait until this busy period is over, then do what I really want to do. People I want to see can be seen later, words I want to say can wait for the right moment, small health issues can be dealt with when there's time.

We always feel there's plenty of time ahead.

But life doesn't necessarily leave us enough time just because we still have plans.

Of course, we can reduce risks through exercise, health check-ups, and cautious travel — these things are very important. But even the most thorough preparation cannot completely shield a person from illness, accidents, and the unknowns of fate.

This isn't meant to make us pessimistic, but to acknowledge a fact: life never comes with a guarantee that never expires.

While hospitalized, I often thought: if the outcome of that accident had been a little more severe, how many regrets would I have left behind?

What I would regret is probably not earning a little less money or completing a few fewer work goals, but the people and things I repeatedly postponed.

Not properly accompanying those who deserved my company, not expressing gratitude in time, and when already exhausted, still treating my body like a machine that could run indefinitely.

Many things that seem very important in daily life suddenly lose their importance when you're lying in a hospital bed. Many small things usually overlooked become extraordinarily precious instead.

Choosing how to live doesn't mean abandoning everything

"Since we don't know how long we'll live, we should just seize the day and enjoy life."

After experiencing this accident, I don't fully agree with this interpretation.

Choosing how to live doesn't mean never working again, never saving money, never bearing responsibilities. Nor does it mean everyone should quit their job and travel far away in pursuit of a life that looks free.

Reality isn't that simple.

Some people have families to support, some are paying off debts, some must care for elderly parents, and some are busy working every day just to provide a stable life for their children. For many ordinary people, just holding things together is already very difficult.

What we can truly choose is often not whether to abandon everything we have, but not to completely lose ourselves in the process of fulfilling our responsibilities.

We can choose not to swallow every grievance, to call our parents when we're busy, to eat a meal properly, and to admit we need rest when we truly can't hold on any longer.

These things seem small, but bit by bit, they determine what our lives will ultimately look like.

When we're young, it's easy to imagine "later" as very long. We always feel that if we fail, we can start over; people we miss, we can meet again; unfinished tasks, we'll have a chance later.

In middle age, responsibilities on our shoulders multiply. Elderly parents above, young children below, pressure at work, trivialities in life. Many people don't lack understanding of life, but lack the energy to live it.

They habitually put themselves last, thinking that once the children are grown, the mortgage is smaller, and the parents' health is stable, they can finally live well for themselves.

But life rarely presents a moment when all problems are solved, specially reserved for us to start living.

As for older people, it doesn't mean life is reduced to only memories. The body may slow down, the things one can do may decrease, but one can still care for someone, cultivate a small interest, look forward to a gathering.

As long as one is still willing to feel life, life is still happening.

An accident doesn't suddenly make you see through life

I don't want to write this accident as a story of "seeing through life completely after a brush with death."

Because real life isn't that dramatic.

After leaving the hospital, I still get anxious about work, get affected by trivial matters, and forget to rest when I get busy. The problems that once troubled me didn't all disappear because of one accident.

A person also doesn't suddenly become broad-minded, enlightened, and free of worries after experiencing an accident.

But this accident did leave me with a kind of reminder.

It made me start to re-evaluate what things are worth investing time in, what emotions don't need to be entangled with endlessly, which people deserve serious cherishing, and which drains should be stopped in time.

In the past, we often comforted ourselves with "wait until later."

Wait until work is more stable, wait until financial conditions are better, wait until there's time, then accompany family, then take care of our health, then live the life we truly want.

But the so-called life isn't at some future moment when everything is perfectly in place.

The today we are experiencing right now is life itself.

What we can hold in our hands is always only today

Today, three months have passed since the accident.

Life is slowly recovering. I still have to work, deal with various trivialities, and face the problems that once made me anxious.

But I've started reminding myself: don't keep leaving the most important people for "later," don't keep putting the things you truly want to do on "someday," and don't turn yourself into a machine that only completes tasks.

We cannot decide when life's endpoint will arrive, but we can decide, before that endpoint comes, how to treat the people around us, how to bear our responsibilities, and how to take care of the self that is often neglected.

Choosing how to live doesn't necessarily require making earth-shattering changes.

Sometimes, it's just eating a meal properly, sleeping soundly; saying goodbye to your parents before leaving home; getting a check-up promptly when you feel unwell; and no longer being stingy with your care for those who truly matter.

The value of life isn't only in how long it is, nor in how many things we possess that are worth showing off.

A person who can live earnestly, live clearly, try not to let down those who love them, and not chronically betray their own heart — even if this life is ordinary, it still has its weight.

People can't choose how long they live. What we can hold in our hands is always only today.

Live today a little more authentically, express love a little more promptly, take care of yourself a little better.

This way, even if we cannot choose the length of our life, at least one day when we look back, we can say to ourselves:

Along this path, I lived earnestly. I didn't come for nothing.