Ever since the Bay Area’s Loma Prieta earthquake in 1989, I have had problems with overpasses. It hits me when I’m in my car, stopped at a light underneath one. The seconds feel like minutes. My heart starts beating faster. My hands get clammy. I stare at the light, willing it to change. In my anxious state, I imagine the massive concrete structure—covered with cars—falling down onto my car, flattening me in an instant. I try to think of a scenario in which I might survive: Could I gun it and narrowly escape the rubble? Could I somehow crouch down into a tiny slot of space and be pried out later? I know in reality neither of those situations would be likely. My death would be most likely. Or, at least, that’s what I’ve told myself since I survived a massive earthquake…
