Today was a little crazy on my commute to work. People were in a hurry. A lot of people. Tailgating, trying to find the fastest lane. You could almost sense their anxiety, their worry, their hurried, frenzied desperation.
Yesterday there was one driver in a Nissan sedan that was hell bent on getting somewhere fast. Cutting in between cars, sudden, drastic, dangerous lane changes, barely missing the car in front and behind, going across all three lanes to shave a few precious seconds. Everyone else seemed sane by comparison.
Today was more constant, more frantic, more urgent. I even left early, normally a guarantee of an easy drive. Not the case today, I was stuck in the middle lane almost all the way. Right and left a parade of frustrated drivers riding the bumper of the car in front of them all the way downtown. Finally I managed to get in the exit lane and cruise to work, comfortable, relaxed and at peace.
No matter when I leave, no matter where I am going I am never in that big of a hurry to get there. It is the journey, not the destination. Even when it is really the destination that matters, the journey is what makes the whole ship float.
Driving can be a pleasant pastime, a little music, a little solitude. Today it was Wilson Pickett and Land of A 1,000 Dances that really made the drive pleasant. Oh sure there were other songs, other artists, other pleasant seconds. "Wow! Ow! Uh! You know I feel alright? Hah! Feel Pretty good, y'all. Uh huh!" Me too, Wilson, watch us "work, y'all." The driving, rising crashing crescendo, music, unbridled passion, joy and enthusiasm. It makes me smile just thinking about it.
Nothing so happy for the parade of angry, impotent, potentially tardy commuters in the other lanes this morning. I felt a little pity, they didn't understand the universal rule of time; there is never enough, but there is always plenty, if you use it right.
No matter what, no matter how big the hurry, no matter which lane you choose, at the front is going to be somebody who is only going to drive the speed limit. Or, God forbid, less than the speed limit. I am always glad to find that person, then nobody can blame me for holding up traffic, it is the car in front of me. When an angry person flies past both us I will feign mighty indignation, and disbelief, but only from a safe distance. Then stay in place behind them, you never leave your wingman, right?