Today I found myself at the end of what I called a “traffic conga line cluster-f*ck” (the asterisk is for all of you delicate folks out there…)
This was highly unusual for Vermont. You’re lucky to see a car or two behind yours, even in the middle of the day. After 6pm, the roads are practically empty.
But no. Today was school bus, semi, oil truck, tourists and 3 Vermonters all on a two lane stretch that had us driving under 40 mph. I know, I know. You live in a place with reams of traffic. I did my time on those highways, believe me. 95. NJ Turnpike. NY State Thruway. All of the NYC bridges, flanked by semis spewing exhaust and waiting to crawl an 1/8 of a mile.
One of the main reasons I live in Vermont is that I don’t wish to be around many people or the traffic they bring. So, when a line of vehicles slows me down, of course I respond with absolute serenity and grace. More like water, less like rock. Right?
So, I tried to make the best of it and had a running conversation with myself. I said, “This may seem like it’s going to go on for miles but eventually it will shift. The bus will turn, the tourist will head off somewhere and traffic will pick up.” This may seem simplistic but often I grow irritated at things that seem like they will never change. But the only constant in life IS change, and a line of traffic was there to remind me. It may not have been flowing in the manner I preferred (the road to myself to cruise at my speed), but I knew that home would soon arrive and I’d be out of the conga line.
I had a choice today — be irritated for every one of those 20 miles or make it into a lesson that I could chew on as we puttered along. The shift would happen soon enough. It was guaranteed, one way or another.