We've settled snuggly into fall here in my hometown. Fiery-colored trees have dropped their leaves like a silky garment in a pool around their feet as if starring in their own perfume commercial. That was last week. This week for the first time this season, the world has donned a more modest blanket of white. Snow fell as we slept and the world was beautifully clean and cozy as we rose from our slumbers. It's always a welcome sight to me... even at the beginning of a week when I decided to drink less coffee. (I'm thankful "less" is relatively vague enough to still indulge on a cold day that won't make it above the freezing mark.)
I woke earlier than I wanted to, left earlier than usual, and made my way to work across town. I usually enjoy the snowy drive as it fills my head with my Dad's voice... "leave good distance between you and the car in front of you, no cruise control, ease off the gas on the overpasses and bridges, look for cars that can't stop before entering an intersection and steer in the direction of the spin." Through the icy streets toward work, I made my way - well under the speed limit, watching out for the other guys, watching for vehicles in the ditch, sliding a little here and there and finally pulling into my parking place at work at a comfortable 8:00am on the dot though I'd anticipated being late because of the roads.
In spite of what one would expect, it was amazingly peaceful. My commute was enjoyable on the first snowfall of the year. I felt this odd unity with my fellow travelers that we all just wanted to get wherever we needed to go, and sensed an even stranger understanding among us that we were all doing the best we could. I found myself wishing that this world, even that my life, were more like this snowy road to work.
The speed was slower. No one tailgated me or got in my way. You picked a speed you were capable of handling and made adjustments. For me it varied. (Dad would have still gone five over - he could handle it.)
Drivers had a realistic expectation that not everyone would maintain control. There's a reason you don't want to be the first to go through an intersection on a snowy day - someone trying to stop may be spinning out of control. Watch for those drivers and try to avoid being on the hurt side of their spin.
My journey wasn't perfect. One sliding stop I'd found myself about a yard from the bumper in front of me half happy to have stopped and half concerned I could get moving again. Turns out Dad was right - when you start to go sideways, you have to turn toward it rather than away. Few things just right themselves.
It was about at that point in the commute, as I inched closer to the truck in front of me with hands clenched and eyes glued to the rearview mirror watching those behind me struggle to stop, that I began to see it less as a drive to work and more like a world I'd like to live in. I longed for this kind of comradery and help and understanding among not just the drivers of my community but just in life.
What if the whole world accepted that we each make our way the best we can making the most of our capabilities? What if people weren't always frustrated when not everyone moves at our pace or with our same gifts and handicaps and values? What if there was an understanding that sometimes people's lives just spin out of control, and we didn't have to know why or who to blame to care about them? What if we were patient enough in our journey to make room for them - not running head-long into their chaos, but just being near if it all goes from bad to worse? What if when our lives went sideways, we were brave enough to steer in their direction and face our issues and adjust to them without panic and with copious doses of the understanding that slides happen?
And then I realized, not every day is a snowy commute - not just among my fellow citizens, but also in my own heart and mind. I seldom offer myself the kind of grace I crave from others. Rarely do I extend myself the understanding that I'm trying and progress might be slower than I hope. Could I learn to handle the out-of-control moment - mine and other people's - directly and intentionally without fear and without guile. I guess that's my struggle, but I believe it might be yours as well at least on some level.
So today, can we pinky-promise each other to live by the civics of the snowy morning commute with ourselves and then with one another? That's the only way to safely get where we're going in our journey.
I woke earlier than I wanted to, left earlier than usual, and made my way to work across town. I usually enjoy the snowy drive as it fills my head with my Dad's voice... "leave good distance between you and the car in front of you, no cruise control, ease off the gas on the overpasses and bridges, look for cars that can't stop before entering an intersection and steer in the direction of the spin." Through the icy streets toward work, I made my way - well under the speed limit, watching out for the other guys, watching for vehicles in the ditch, sliding a little here and there and finally pulling into my parking place at work at a comfortable 8:00am on the dot though I'd anticipated being late because of the roads.
In spite of what one would expect, it was amazingly peaceful. My commute was enjoyable on the first snowfall of the year. I felt this odd unity with my fellow travelers that we all just wanted to get wherever we needed to go, and sensed an even stranger understanding among us that we were all doing the best we could. I found myself wishing that this world, even that my life, were more like this snowy road to work.
The speed was slower. No one tailgated me or got in my way. You picked a speed you were capable of handling and made adjustments. For me it varied. (Dad would have still gone five over - he could handle it.)
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| Photo Cred Erica Evans-Whitaker |
My journey wasn't perfect. One sliding stop I'd found myself about a yard from the bumper in front of me half happy to have stopped and half concerned I could get moving again. Turns out Dad was right - when you start to go sideways, you have to turn toward it rather than away. Few things just right themselves.
It was about at that point in the commute, as I inched closer to the truck in front of me with hands clenched and eyes glued to the rearview mirror watching those behind me struggle to stop, that I began to see it less as a drive to work and more like a world I'd like to live in. I longed for this kind of comradery and help and understanding among not just the drivers of my community but just in life.
What if the whole world accepted that we each make our way the best we can making the most of our capabilities? What if people weren't always frustrated when not everyone moves at our pace or with our same gifts and handicaps and values? What if there was an understanding that sometimes people's lives just spin out of control, and we didn't have to know why or who to blame to care about them? What if we were patient enough in our journey to make room for them - not running head-long into their chaos, but just being near if it all goes from bad to worse? What if when our lives went sideways, we were brave enough to steer in their direction and face our issues and adjust to them without panic and with copious doses of the understanding that slides happen?
And then I realized, not every day is a snowy commute - not just among my fellow citizens, but also in my own heart and mind. I seldom offer myself the kind of grace I crave from others. Rarely do I extend myself the understanding that I'm trying and progress might be slower than I hope. Could I learn to handle the out-of-control moment - mine and other people's - directly and intentionally without fear and without guile. I guess that's my struggle, but I believe it might be yours as well at least on some level.
So today, can we pinky-promise each other to live by the civics of the snowy morning commute with ourselves and then with one another? That's the only way to safely get where we're going in our journey.