Let me set a scene:
I’m sitting behind the wheel of a 2014 BMW M5. It’s essentially a family sedan that, if not limited by its own computer for “safety” or whatever, would be capable of reaching 200 miles per hour, thanks to an engine similar to what you might find in a Lamborghini. In other words, it’s extraordinarily fast. And it’s not mine. But I have the keys to it for the next hour, and as I am alone with this car on some rather unpopulated backroads, I can’t help but put my foot down a little bit.
Doing so is dangerous. Perhaps humans don’t roam these roads often, but deer and all other manner of wildlife do, and maybe that’s not a big deal if you are going the recommended 55 miles an hour Virginia asks you to go on roads with no determined speed limit, but at speeds over 100, even the smallest bumps in the road can drastically alter the trajectory of the car, and any amount of steering input feels maximal. And again, this is not my car. Crashing is not an option.
So as much fun as a BMW M5 can be, driving it is a fearful experience. I don’t want to crash. I don’t want to go to jail. But I’m not going to lift my foot off the gas. And once the speedometer on the M5 reaches 120 and keeps climbing, something inside me snaps.
It’s an emotion that I have come to recognize in moments of duress, when a situation reaches its bleakest point and my brain realizes there is no way to crawl out of this moment under any “win condition.” Instead of fighting for more favorable outcomes, there’s a psychological snap wherein the feelings of tension and stress in a given situation vanish and instead are replaced with a sort of elated apathy.
Simply put, I just stop caring so much.
For lack of vocabulary to properly describe it, I took a page from “The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows” author John Koenig’s book (pun intended), and have coined the feeling “Blush Pink,” which, while it breaks Koenig’s rules in creating a name for an obscure feeling, seems only just, given the somewhat cocky, overconfident nature of the emotion. To define it:
Blush Pink: n. The subtle euphoric feeling of apathy that invades oneself when stress levels become too high. Named in honor of the final color in the sky as the sun tries desperately to cling to the horizon just before night sets in (see the metaphor here?).
It’s hard to say exactly what will trigger Blush Pink. Maybe it’s driving too fast. Maybe it’s partying with the boys and someone starts tweaking a little too hard, but you can’t be bothered to stop them. Maybe it’s covert meetings with a girl you don’t trust, or staying up way too late with a girl who won’t trust you.
Maybe it’s watching the country around you kill itself, either in schools or in Congress. Maybe it’s seeing the climate reach its threshold, or watching the leather jackboot of Russia poise itself to stomp. In any case, when the stress starts to climb, when you find yourself on the brink of internal collapse, you might snap into Blush Pink.
When that happens, I hope you’ll join me. There’s room enough for two in this M5— all I ask is that when we hit 140, when the branches on the trees begin to blend together and the asphalt blurs, you will lean back in your seat and close your eyes. Let the fear expel from you, and when it’s gone, when you begin to feel the warm elation of reckless indifference wash over you, don’t stop it. Get lost inside that lush color, the subtle tones of Blush Pink. You deserve that much.
Come. Soon none of this will matter anyway.