This morning, about twenty to eight, you were toward the end of a long line of cars waiting to turn right, but we were all stopped because our free-flowing turn lane was half filled with snow.
Mind you, it really was half-filled with snow, and not just an inch or so of accumulation. The snowplow only plowed half of it, so there is a two-foot wall of hard-packed snow blocking the lane for the first few hundred feet after the turn.
You honked. Despite the fact that at least six cars in front of you were patiently (and quietly) waiting until the car in front felt safe enough to pull out, you honked.
Here’s what you need to realize: the guy in front of you has no obligation to take risks — put himself in danger — just because you are five minutes late to work.
I wanted so badly to unroll my window and thrust my arm out as far as it could go to let you know what I think of you.
But I’ve kind of made myself a promise to try to live an authentic and wholehearted life, so I didn’t.
Instead, I’m writing this letter, and trying to follow Brené’s advice and be vulnerable.
Please stop. Because I’m making up this story about what’s happening right now, and it’s that you don’t care if I’m terrified of your aggression or feel safe on the road. I’m supposed to love you, but I’m in fear right now.
(who, if she is being authentic, is sometimes a little snarky)
P.S. Just for the record — and I’m fairly certain this explanation breaks the #1 Guidepost and is shame and the fear of shame speaking — I was not the stopped driver. I was probably four cars back.
Tags: Brené Brown