It's just not the same any more. Early morning traffic during rush hour is an unhealthy mix of over-caffeinated go-getters that are far too jazzed up on their liter of sugar-coffee-slushie-lattes or their counterparts, the freshly reanimated zombies that are still crawling out of the depths of their recent eternal slumbers, unable to react accordingly to rapid lane changes, much less be cognisant of the location of their own vehicle's acceleration pedal. This is not something that I'm used to, when my usual commute happens an hour after this madness generally ends, but I'm the head trainer for the next couple of weeks and my schedule is on my manager's time instead of my usual handful of clients that operate in the next timezone.
I clench my steering wheel, eyes darting wildly as I try to maintain attention to the constant stream of visual updates necessary to stay safe in the whirling buzzing madness of a busy street. The cars around me, everyone's current speed, what's in my mirrors, future stoplight status, billboards, that crinkle in the seat belt that's working its way into a rogue fold in my shirt, all vying for my attention. Catalogue, process, repeat and check for updates. I can barely hear the usual soothing tones of my favorite podcast over the static of my own nerves and thumping of my steadily rising blood pressure. I dare not adjust the seat belt for fear of missing something important. Too risky, wait for a red light and hope that the belt isn't actually folded over backwards in some mess that will drive me further toward insanity. I'm lucky, just a kink, solved with a deft thumb and shifting hips. One less thing out to think about, one less variable to count in the cycle. A small victory in the battle of distraction.
I'm not an aggressive driver. I don't really mind speed limits, and have done the math on the miniscule number of seconds I'd save by speeding that would inevitably be wasted frantically trying to get everything out of my car when I get to work. It's far easier just to leave three minutes earlier than I normally would to keep from having to deal with the panic. I plan my route accordingly, and always make sure I'm in the lane that I need to be miles before I need to be there. After all, I go the same way, twice a day, every day. This is not some new route to me, I don't have to preform some ninja-dash through two lanes of traffic to meet the demands of a GPS that will scowl at my ego if it has to recalculate my path one more time. I assume this must be true for most rush hour drivers, headed to the same jobs on the same paths so many times that they've certainly had long enough to know when and where they need to turn.
It seems so simple to me, a mindful observation that there's really no point in endangering my life or the lives of others around me to shave a few seconds off of my total drive time by running a red light. I've far too often watched as someone drops their optimal gas efficiency by a dozen miles per gallon by blasting off down the road just to end up at the next obviously red light a few moments before I do, whilst I'm happily coasting to a gentle stop. I guess some people don't understand that they can do that, assuming that the car only works in two positions, squealing breaks or full throttle. The first law of motion is lost on the masses I suppose, but that's a topic for another day.
By the time I finally do arrive at work, I'm already stressed out and haven't even started reading emails or responding to the messages of upset customers who need attention or managers who want updates on tasks. All in all this experience has me somewhat bewildered, that every morning there's this collectively self-induced mass panic on the roads, a feeding frenzy of engines all racing towards a destination that few would ever be in a hurry to get to if given the choice and freedom of an independently wealthy lifestyle.
So really, why the rush?
