hard to say: maybe I’m the problem

It’s that time of the year again. Summer’s over and the kiddies are back to school. Parents regain some freedom while the rest of us pay the ultimate price: traffic. The arteries of the city are once again clogged with school buses and soccer moms.

Typically I am a calm and courteous driver. I maintain a safe speed and I respect the space of other cars. Not this morning, nope! Stuck in the jam of cars slowly shuffling in and out of a secondary school lot, my middle fingers began to itch.

Outta my way! my brain was screaming as I contemplated upgrading my vehicle… to a snowplow. The precious seconds ticked away and my rage built. Eventually I was able to get around the chaos and speed away seething, “idiots!”

Later in the day, working away happily and far removed from the morning’s frustration, I felt the annoying twinge of guilt that happens when I’m wrong about something. I reluctantly reconsidered the scenario.

What exactly had me so furious? People taking their kids to school? No, that can’t be right. Idiot drivers compromising all the space on the road? Well, they weren’t exactly being idiotic, were they. They were just patiently awaiting their turn. Damn kids ruining my morning routine!

Hang on a second. I’ve driven with kids in the car before – my niece and nephew – and I remember feeling hyper aware of all the “idiot” drivers on the road. People sped around me as I called out, “your time is not more valuable than mine!”

So let’s be real. I was made to wait all of four minutes this morning. Then, not wanting to be late, I drove like an asshole the rest of the way to work. The possibility of being four minutes late for work… THAT’S what I was so angry about?! My time is not more valuable than theirs.

This simple annoyance, which was created by me, can be solved by leaving my house four minutes earlier. I am my own problem; I am also my solution. Goddammit. I hate when that happens.

–EC