I'm quite convinced that you are the kind of person you seem to be when you're behind the wheel. I think that's why as much as I want to like driving, I never really can. It's on the open road that you're confronted with people's most resident evils. It's within the four walls of an automobile that you come face-to-face with another human's demons, and my, how frightening they are. I can't figure out where it comes from. No one teaches you that it's okay to make a right turn from the left turn lane in front of other cars, but only if you really need to. You're never shown how to get as close as humanly possible to the car in front of you until he decides to get in the other lane.
And don't even get me started on the speed limit. In what world are the people following the law the crazy ones? The jerks? The ones at whom horns should be honked and lights flashed? Like a PC one day after its warranty expires, it just doesn't compute.
Somehow, we all got such a sense of entitlement. We weren't born with it, but we certainly grew it, like a tumor, somewhere along the way. The world is there to convenience us. Other people need to help us or stay out of our way. If it isn't about me, then it most certainly doesn't concern me.
How can we be, at once, so self-loathing and so self-involved? We're insecure about everything from our looks to our voices to our intelligences to our senses of humor, but in our cars, we are kings and queens. Gods and goddesses. Divas and … divos.
Maybe from now on, we should stop to think that other people have places to go too. Loved ones to embrace. Jobs to perform. Soccer games to watch. Moments to capture.
And maybe from now on, we can take a second to remember that all of the other cars on the road have people inside them too. People who sing too loud to the radio. People who dance in their drivers' seats. People who want as much respect from us as we impatiently demand from them.
But, hey, I wrote this post on my phone while driving around, so what do I really know?