Is This Lane Even Moving?...

Rush hour in any city is never fun, but particularly in NYC on a hot summer day. I like to consider myself a calm person, in control, one that retains his composure even in the most stressful situations, yet all it takes is five minutes in rush hour traffic and not even a psychiatrist would be able to bring me down the mountain of anxiety that would have formed. Aside from the obvious factors that make traffic stressful, there is for me, another unquantifiable parameter that gets satiated to take me over the top and frustrate like few things in life can.

I suppose it is the helplessness of it all. Cars, designed to be driven at any other speed except 0mph, sitting there, going nowhere, while pedestrians seem to be blazing by, mocking those of us trapped in these boxes of steel and fiberglass. While I can't remember the date, all I remember is sitting there, smack in the middle of a traffic bonanza. Ahead of me were miles of cars, which might as well have been parked we were moving so slow. It was like I was staring into the face of a slot machine; three lanes and they all came up losers.

However, amidst this viscous movement, I noticed that perhaps I just might be in the wrong lane after all. Could it be? Could we all, in my lane be so daft as to choose the slowest of all lanes? It couldn't be and yet, this lane to my left seem to be zipping by, comparatively like horses at the races. I would remain a fool no longer. It was time I joined this river of freedom and leave the molasses I was presently stuck in. Surely I must make it over to this promise land of and I counted down in my head and bolted over. This was no time for blinkers since there was no logical way I would be welcome into this lane. No, if you were going to be in this winners circle, you had to have guts of steel and courage to spare.

As I secretly let out an evil laugh of triumph, turning to look at those I left behind, I settled into my new home on the highway and awaited the reward of sinking my right foot into the gas pedal and speeding away gloriously. Well, we all know the end of this story. There was no tire screeching, no blowing dust in anyone's face and certainly no open road before me. Instead, I found that this lane was now the slow lane. And what was happening to my right, in my previous life's lane that I was so quick to abandon? That's right, it was moving past us, with each driver taking turns blowing raspberries in my face while they held their thumbs on their nose. Okay, so that last part didn't happen but what was going on here? The tides seemed to have turned on my dime and that didn't even seem statistically possible.

The next twenty minutes involved me swerving in and out of lanes I thought were going faster only to realize that I was reaching the point where the only vehicle that was going to get through would be the ambulance to come get me my blood pressure was so high. At least that was one sure fire way to get traffic moving again.

Over time and many more traffic jams, I came to learn that no lanes were in actuality moving faster than any other but since I was stuck in my own lane, frustrated and angry at the whole situation, I was under the magical illusion that it must be better where I wasn't. Of course, this is classic 'grass is greener' syndrome but the more I live, the more I realize that this syndrome creeps it's head in so many ways.

It's hard to see sometimes that where we are is good, maybe even great and that no matter how good it may look somewhere else, your patch of land is just fine.

I don't swerve into lanes that much anymore these days. I'm that guy in the same lane from the start of the trip to the finish and I am okay with that. It's just the right speed and I reach my destination just the same than if I tried to get there faster and the best part is I get to enjoy those I'm taking the ride with a whole lot more.

Honk if you like your lane.