I recently read The Book of Joy. It’s a beautiful celebration of friendship, life, and happiness as championed by Desmond Tutu and the Dalai Lama. (Right?! It’s really amazing, and I highly recommend it.)
When reading it, you can’t help but be inspired to be a better person. As I’d put down the book, I’d think “Today is the first day of my new, joyful life!”
One evening I read a bunch of the book then went for a walk and felt, like, very zen. Zenderful. Zenny henny. I was making plans about how to counteract forces that try to steal my joy.
One particular passage I meditated on had the author (Doug Abrams), asking Archbishop Tutu how he dealt with traffic and road rage. I thought this was an especially poignant moment because I feel I can be at my very WORST self when I’m driving in Chicago.
Not to steal the spotlight from Mr. Tutu, but driving in Chicago is a MESS. People jaywalk; turn signals aren’t used; moving trucks, delivery trucks, trash trucks, and monster trucks block every corner of every street; things dart – bikes, people, more trucks, cars, dogs — tl;dr it is like the absolute most terrible game of MarioKart in the world.
So, back to the thoughts of someone who actually matters, Tutu said that when he is cut off in traffic or something annoying happens, he projects generosity onto others and tries to take an empathetic stance: “Maybe they are rushing their wife to the hospital.” Etc.
So I had my zen night and then went to bed per usual. Woke up per usual at 5 to drive to the gym.
One of the main reasons I go to the gym at 5 is because the traffic isn’t bad. Because of COVID all the nearby gyms closed, so I have to either walk 25 minutes or drive 5 to get to the closest big box gym. At 5 am, it’s not that bad.
Well…
WEEELLLLLLL….
The morning after my zen meditation, I pull out of my parking spot (or try to) and find that there is a dumpster blocking one half of the parking lot exit and an illegally parked car with half its bumper blocking the other half. There is exactly like 6 feet of space for me to weave between to get onto the road.
Now, the dumpster isn’t usually there, but there is always some dope parking illegally and making it difficult to get out of the lot.
So I was prepared for this.
“Maybe the both the dumpster and the car’s owner had to park because a wife had to get to a hospital…” I say while blasting a very calm, moody song by The 1975.
So I pull out after like three adjustments trying to avoid said dumpster and the illegally parked car.
The gym proves to be annoyance-free which is honestly a small miracle, but I now believe it to be a kind of hug from the universe preparing me for the ride home.
After the workout, I get in my car and back out of the parking space and IMMEDIATELY I am in a traffic jam straight out of India. Cars start swerving around me, pulling up behind me, pulling out from the spot behind me, and then turning into the row I’m trying to get out of. It’s as if someone, somewhere was like “OKAY EVERYONE. GOOOOOO!” So, I’m avoiding cars and trying to get out of the parking lot, and then three, mysterious women jump out of bushes and start meandering around the parking lot. They are the kind of pedestrians who walk very slowly in the middle of the street, turn and acknowledge that they are, in fact, blocking all traffic, then turn around and… continue to block traffic.
So Zen Tedd has been launched into outer space at this point and a stream of expletives is running through his head. I did not care if all three women were in the act of labor giving birth with husbands on the way – THEY NEEDED TO MOVE.
The women eventually get to a sidewalk and clear the way, so I can finally turn out of the lot. It’s a sharp turn to exit the gym parking lot with a large, visual-blocking bush in front of the stop sign. Normally, this is fine because, although you can’t see the lane you’re turning into, you can see all oncoming traffic.
So, I check to make sure no one is coming from the left or right and then turn…
DIRECTLY INTO A BIKER GOING DOWN THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD.
I shout out loud in my car – a word that I don’t want to put in a PG-ish rated blog – and grip the wheel as the man, who, as mentioned, is going down the wrong side of the road, swerves around me.
At this point, there is still a flickering candle of the Dalai Lama in my head whispering calming things, but he is barely audible over the ROAR of my own inner monologue which is wishing death on three woman, a biker, and about five cars which had destroyed my peace in the last five minutes.
So many rambling, loud thoughts: Who does that biker think he is and why is going down the wrong side it’s absolutely criminal I hope he gets run over and knocked off like not dead or anything but like has to wear like a boot or something for two weeks and those ladies why are they wandering around in a parking lot for no reason why why why and how could 15 cars need access to the one space I left for five minutes…
It went on.
But by this time, I’m about three stoplights away from the gym, blasting music and ruminating.
At the third light, I pull up behind a Honda CRV. This light is the gateway to the longest stretch of straight road before I get close to my home. It’s like a half-mile, no-stoplight area that I usually take at about 35 mph – just 5 over the limit.
The light turns green and the car in front of me shudders to a slow, rolling start. And then… I don’t know. Let’s the inertia of the road take him.
At first, I thought he was going to pull over because, right across that intersection, is a really popular Mexican restaurant that does breakfast.
But the CRV just rolled past it going 10 mph.
Then, I thought he may be parking or turning off but he did not. He accelerated to a break-neck speed of 18 mph and just continued to roll down the road.
And he kept rolling and rolling and rolling.
I am honestly surprised that I did not crush my steering wheel at some point in this ride home. My knuckles were white and I was so angry the inner monologue had turned to just one phrase over and over:
Ridehisa$$…ridehisa$$…ridehisa$$…ridehisa$$
I just got about three inches from his back bumper and stared through his car with crazed eyes.
This additional pressure helped slightly… In the 10 feet before the next light, Mr. CRV decided to accelerate…into the red light and then slam on his brakes.
I veered off because I had to go right and he was going straight. I was also 95% sure this was the kind of person who would pull up to a busy, Chicago intersection, the light would turn green, THEN they would turn on their left turn signal. (This actually proved to be a correct assumption.)
Desmond and Dalai broke through somewhat at that moment because I refrained from glaring at the man when I pulled up beside him. I didn’t want to even have the picture of the face of the person who had sent me into a homicidal rage.
After I turned off, I drove home with an angry monologue running through my head, chockfull of expletives and hexes directed at all 15 people who had ruined MY zen morning.
I told this story to Ernesto later (when I’d calmed down), and he goes, “You were being tested.”
Which was true. And I failed miserably.
Today WASN’T the day of my first joyful life.
But at least I was emotionally aware that I was unhinged, wrathful, and wishing a corrective boot on a biker covered in tattoos. That’s progress, right?
And this morning when I made a protein shake and knocked it over, spilling some hideous half-formed gelatinous goop all over the kitchen counter and floor, I actually was able to take a breath, relax, and just clean it up.
“Well,” I thought to myself, “at least it’s not the CRV.”