I have been in many cities where driving the freeway was so simple because the masterminds of their roadways created an intuitive system with a multitude of precise signage. In these cities, I have driven with a sense of being totally and completely lost and have still arrived at my destination without one detour because of the signs that were guiding me every inch of the way. It was quite reassuring.
Our city was brilliantly set up on a numbered grid so, once you know that, it is quite easy. However, perhaps it is because I live here and have been lulled into the belief that I know where I am going, but I believe, as I drive the roads of my fair city, our freeway system is not intuitive or well marked. Perhaps, because I think I can get there without reading any signs, when I feel the crawling suspicion that I am wending my way toward Lost and actually do start reading those signs, they seem to not give enough information at the right time.
There is an area I drive through every single day where all freeway systems converge. Here, it appears as though some maleficent giant has taken up the roads, tossed them in the air and allowed them to land where they may as if they were pick-up-sticks. For that very reason, this area is hailed as the “Spaghetti Bowl” by citizens and traffic reporters alike.
Driving through there, in any direction, requires quite a bit of fortitude and trust that nothing will go awry. It is much better if you get in your appropriate lane long before you enter the danger zone as there is very little space for split-second decisions. Any quick changes result in pile-ups and spin outs and chain reactions unlike any other area.
Several years ago, our entire freeway system underwent a major redesign. Our masterminds reconstructed the obsolete system into a bigger, yet still obsolete, scheme and many of the standard exits were moved. For about a year, in the Spaghetti Bowl, no matter how closely I paid attention, without fail, I would miss my exit. Every single time.
The Spaghetti Bowl, which was bad prior to the reconstruction and even worse afterward, was one of the main areas wherein they swapped exits from one side of the freeway to the other. Before the rebuilding, you would veer north to go north, south to go south and so on. Now, if you want to end up in the north, you must first wend your way in a southern direction before bending northward. You do just the opposite to get to the south. If you veer to the wrong direction, you have no hope of righting the situation until you have driven about five miles off course.
I take all that into consideration whenever I enter the freeway. I am sure there are millions of others on the road – both natives and visitors – that may be experiencing the same sense of confusion. However, all drivers here do not use that some compassion.
This morning I witnessed a split second decision by a driver that was veering to the right which would eventually take him eastward. The little red truck screeched almost completely crosswise out of his lane, across the pebbled median and into the lanes to the left that were still heading in a generally northward direction. I could imagine him wiping the sweat off his brow with a sigh, “Whew! That was close.”
Everyone was safe. No one even had to so much as tap their brakes.
Nonetheless, one driver was uncontrollably upset by the occurrence. Little Red Truck was merrily on his way, without more than that first sweat. The man in the big white truck beside me – whom Little Red Truck erratically crossed in front of – was gesturing wildly at him, rolling down his window to yell obscenities at him and completely staring out his side window, spewing fire. Apparently he had forgotten that he, too, was driving a moving vehicle which needed the directives of a conscious driver.
Big White Truck continued raging impotently and I watched in horror as his front end neared the cement embankment. All traffic in our two exit lanes were veering gently to the right, as were the protective barriers bordering our lanes. He was driving straight ahead. No veering there. He was so absorbed in his rampage at the long-gone Little Red Truck that, he was not veering. I clenched my teeth and the steering wheel as I waited for the imminent explosion of metal into cement and prepared to swerve in whatever direction necessary to miss the impending crash.
At the very last second, he came to his sessions, corrected almost too sharply, which caused his truck to rock momentarily. I held my breath. A rollover would be even more difficult for me to avoid. Eventually, he righted himself and I actually saw him wipe his forehead as I gulped for air.
I mused about my experience until I arrived safely at my destination. I wondered how differently the Spaghetti Bowl experience would have been if Little Red Truck had been more conscious of his path. I wondered how different it would have gone for Big White Truck if he had stayed in his own lane, focused on his own stuff and stopped worrying about the mistakes of Little Red Truck. I wondered how Big White Truck would have felt if he had chosen, instead, to show compassion for Little Red Truck.
How many times do we drive through life, so confident that we know where we are going that we do not rely on any help? How many times do we believe we are above seeking help, that there is no need for reading the signs that are placed there for our assistance? How many times do we set out, certain that we are knowledgeable of what lies ahead, which way to turn and where we will end up only to find that the road has been changed? How many times do we journey out in our old ways, unaware that we need to do something different? How many times do we wander out of our own lane and then rage at others around us when we miss our exit?
Like driving, Life asks us to be patient. It asks us to be compassionate. It asks us to stay in our own lane. It asks us to be alert, to be aware and to be courteous. And, most of all, it begs of us to be wakeful enough to watch for the roadside assistance so that we may reach our destination, not by the sweat of our brow but, instead, through a calm and easeful journey.
©Angie K. Millgate 01/08/07
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