It’s rage inducing.
It’s a cliché, I know, but it still affects me. I wish it didn’t. If only I could find an inner calm, appreciate the fact that I’m in a car, that I have music, that I’m comfortable and safe. Nope. If someone in front of me slows me down because they won’t take an aggressive left at a green light I snap. If someone doesn’t use their blinker to turn, expletives fly from my mouth. If someone is driving too slow, and I’m running late, I hate that person for five minutes; my rage focuses on their perceived driving inadequacies.
Is traffic the villain here? The construction that causes a lot of the traffic I’m complaining about is a byproduct of human population increase. This would mean that all humanity is my villain, and I would be falling into the trap of becoming a villain myself. It’s Sisyphean — fighting the inevitable growth of humanity is an absolute fruitless struggle that would never end; and it’s a total waste of time. As you know, time is not on my side.
I’ve realized lately that when I let myself get wrapped up in hating traffic, I’m having a bad day because of something else going on in my life. If I’ve worked out, meditated, eaten well and slept well, traffic is just another thing — this is a healthy adult lifestyle, right — but it’s tough while trying to launch a new career at the age of forty-four with two kids who go to different schools on opposite ends of the city.
Personally, I can’t wait for the self-driving car. If I were to do the time/life calculation on how much time I spend in traffic I might end up in a psych ward. So, I must come to terms with the fact that I spend a lot of my life with other humans in the river of cars going from point A to B. If I don’t, I lose. I don’t like to lose.