Thursday, June 2, 2011

Driving is usually a silent affair for me, free of radio or music, with only the hum of the road, whoosh of other cars, and the delicious overtone from gradually stepping on the gas pedal as background noise. Lately, though, the calm has been interrupted by a growing sense of impatience, and when I pair a shorter fuse and with my propensity to speed, it’s a recipe for impending disaster.

My recent trip to New York is partially to blame for this, I think, because I was witness there to some spectacular driving maneuvers. I mean, how can you watch your cabbie weave through rush-hour traffic with superhuman reflexes and not want to emulate him to some degree? The larger issue, however, is that fine threshold between being confident and being a dick. I’ve frankly been on the wrong side of the equation recently.

Confidence is important, make no mistake. It’s invaluable pretty much everywhere, in career and society at large, and it acts as a kind of interpersonal line of credit. The difference lies in how you carry yourself. On one end of the spectrum, you can evince a quiet confidence, serene and sure as you march to your own beat, or you can assert yourself constantly, leaving little room for fallibility.

I believe there’s a correlation between how you drive and where you sit on this spectrum. When you repeatedly cut people off, tailgate, and slingshot past slow cars, you’re essentially saying you’re right and everybody else is wrong. Your driving style is like a Geiger counter, in a sense, and it goes doo. Doo-doo-doo. Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo. Doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo -dooouchebag. I heard the call, loud and clear, and now I’m on the mend. It’s time to recalibrate myself and find that balance–or risk having it found for me.