Beginning in the middle.

Seventeen years. That's 204 months. 884 weeks. 6205 days. 148,920 hours. 8,935,200 minutes. 536,112,000 seconds that have slid by, in muted relief against the vibrance of the world around me, since the accident.

Last week, I turned 34, but today, I turn 17 again in this second life. And, just as I did shortly after my last 17th birthday, I am about to foray into unfamiliar territory once again. Life has always seemed to draw itself into patterns for me, so drawing this parallel is not uncommon.

Maybe I'm like a cicada -- every 17 years, I start a new life.