I was already irritated before I got in the car.
That probably matters.
It had been one of those days where nothing catastrophic happened, but everything seemed determined to take three additional steps.
Emails.
Waiting.
A task that should have taken twenty minutes somehow consuming an hour.
Someone asking me a question I had already answered.
Then asking it again in a slightly different font.
By the time I got into the car, I was not furious.
I was just carrying that low level annoyance that makes you believe the universe has personally become inefficient.
I started driving.
Music on.
Air conditioning on.
Everything was fine.
Then somebody cut me off.
Not a gentle merge.
Not an understandable, "Oops, sorry, did not see you."
This was a full commitment lane change that made me hit the brakes and briefly reconsider humanity.
And immediately:
"WHAT THE FUCK?"
There she was.
The version of me who apparently earned a doctorate in traffic law while sitting behind a steering wheel.
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?"
The other car continued driving.
"LEARN HOW TO DRIVE."
Still driving.
"USE YOUR FUCKING SIGNAL."
Nothing.
Not even an acknowledgment of my excellent presentation.
And then I realized something.
She could not hear me.
Of course she could not hear me.
Her windows were closed.
My windows were closed.
She was already several cars ahead.
I had just delivered an emotionally charged speech to my dashboard.
Apparently I had joined an argument by myself
There is something deeply ridiculous about screaming at another driver from inside your own car.
We act like we are communicating.
We are not.
The other person has absolutely no idea that we are questioning their intelligence, upbringing, eyesight, driver's license, and possibly the entire genetic history of their family.
They are just driving.
Meanwhile, inside our car, we are performing.
Hands moving.
Eyebrows involved.
Full facial expressions.
Sometimes pointing.
At what?
They cannot see that either.
And yet I continued.
Because logically understanding that someone cannot hear you does not immediately stop you from wanting them to know that they are an idiot.
A few minutes later, another car was driving slowly in front of me.
Of course.
Because once your mood has decided traffic is terrible, suddenly every vehicle becomes supporting evidence.
"Why are we driving like this?"
We.
I had started addressing strangers collectively.
At this point, the freeway had become a disappointing team project and apparently I was the only person taking it seriously.
Then I caught myself speeding up
Not dangerously.
Nothing dramatic.
But enough that I noticed it.
The first car that cut me off was still somewhere ahead.
For one stupid second, I wanted to catch up.
Why?
I have no idea.
What exactly was I planning to accomplish?
Pull alongside her and communicate disappointment through eye contact?
Give her a thumbs down?
Hold up a handwritten performance review?
Driving: Needs Improvement
I suddenly imagined how ridiculous the entire thing would look from outside my car.
One woman makes a bad lane change.
Another woman spends the next ten minutes emotionally pursuing justice.
This was not Erin Brockovich.
It was the freeway.
So I slowed down.
Not because I suddenly became enlightened.
Mostly because I realized I was becoming more annoying to myself than the driver who started the whole thing.
The strange thing was that I had actually been scared
That part took me a few minutes to notice.
When the car cut in front of me, I hit the brakes.
My body reacted before I had time to think.
Heart jumped.
Hands tightened.
For a second, I thought we might hit each other.
Then fear turned into anger almost immediately.
That happens faster than we realize sometimes.
Being scared feels vulnerable.
Being furious feels powerful.
So instead of thinking:
"Jesus, that scared me."
My brain went directly to:
"YOU FUCKING IDIOT."
Very efficient emotional processing.
And maybe that is part of what makes road rage so easy to fall into.
It is not always one clean emotion.
Sometimes it is fear wearing an anger costume.
Sometimes it is stress looking for somewhere to land.
Sometimes it is exhaustion deciding that a Nissan Altima has personally betrayed us.
Sometimes we are already carrying ten things, and then somebody forgets to use a turn signal.
Congratulations.
You are now the official representative of everything irritating about my life.
The poor bastard has no idea.
The bad lane change lasted three seconds
My reaction lasted much longer.
That was the embarrassing part.
The actual event was over almost immediately.
Nobody crashed.
Nothing happened.
The car was gone.
But I kept carrying it.
Several exits later, I was still mentally prosecuting the case.
Exhibit A: reckless lane change.
Exhibit B: no signal.
Exhibit C: probably bad parking too.
At some point you have to ask yourself who is actually extending the problem.
The stranger?
Or the person replaying it fifteen minutes later?
Because that driver was probably thinking about groceries by then.
Maybe dinner.
Maybe absolutely nothing.
Meanwhile I had developed a complete personality profile for someone based on four seconds of driving.
She probably leaves shopping carts in parking spaces.
I can tell.
Then my imagination made it worse
This is one of the joys of an overactive brain.
It does not simply experience what happened.
It also creates alternate endings.
What if I had sped up?
What if she had reacted?
What if one of us slammed on the brakes?
What if there had been an accident?
What if one of us got out of the car?
What if someone nearby recorded it?
Now suddenly I am imagining myself in a viral video.
Fantastic.
There I am.
Phone footage.
Bad angle.
Probably hair looking ridiculous.
Somebody uploads it with a title like:
Woman Loses It on Freeway
Then strangers start analyzing my personality in the comments.
Someone identifies where I work.
Someone tags my employer.
The next morning I am explaining to HR why there is footage of me yelling at a stranger through a Honda Civic.
All because someone changed lanes badly.
Obviously not every angry moment in traffic turns into a disaster.
Most do not.
Most of us swear privately and continue driving.
But that is the bizarre thing about road rage.
The difference between a stupid moment and a life changing one can sometimes be one additional decision.
Follow them.
Speed up.
Block them.
Get out of the car.
Keep going.
One more decision.
Then another.
Until eventually everyone is standing somewhere thinking:
How the hell did this happen?
Well.
It began with a turn signal.
I understand why people get angry
That is the part I do not want to pretend away.
Some drivers really are terrible.
Some are reckless.
Some are unbelievably selfish.
Some apparently believe mirrors are decorative.
You can be doing everything correctly and still almost get hit because somebody else decided traffic laws were more of a suggestion.
Of course that makes people angry.
And sometimes the anger is not even entirely about driving.
Maybe you just left work after an awful day.
Maybe money is tight.
Maybe someone at home is sick.
Maybe you have not slept.
Maybe your anxiety has already been running background processes since 6:00 that morning.
Maybe you are late.
Maybe someone is waiting for you.
Maybe you have been holding everything together politely all day.
Then one stranger nearly clips your bumper.
There goes the final thread.
"FUCK OFF."
Honestly, understandable.
But they still cannot hear you.
Your nervous system can.
That was the part I kept thinking about.
Every word I shouted at the other driver was happening entirely inside my own space.
They received none of it.
I received all of it.
I had somehow given a stranger the rest of my commute
This person took maybe three seconds from me.
Then I voluntarily gave them twelve more minutes.
That is terrible math.
They changed lanes.
I changed moods.
And somehow I was acting like they had won something.
Maybe that is why road rage feels so exhausting even when nothing actually happens.
You are burning energy trying to influence someone who is already gone.
It is like having an argument with somebody after they leave the room.
Except now everyone is moving at sixty five miles per hour.
By the time I reached the parking lot, she was long gone
I pulled in.
Parked.
Turned off the engine.
Silence.
And suddenly the whole thing felt stupid.
I had no idea where the other driver went.
She had no idea what I had called her.
She probably never knew I was angry.
For all I knew, she was already home.
Maybe she forgot the entire thing happened.
And here I was, still carrying it.
There was something almost offensive about that.
At minimum, I wanted her to know she had ruined my mood.
She did not.
Only I knew.
Which meant technically there had only been one person inside my car ruining my drive.
Unfortunately, she was driving.
Maybe that is the whole point
I am probably still going to swear when somebody does something stupid in traffic.
I know myself.
I am not going to become a peaceful monk because I wrote one blog.
Someone will cut me off again.
I will probably say something inappropriate.
Maybe loudly.
But I think the part I want to remember is what happens immediately after.
Not because I need to forgive the driver.
Not because they were secretly right.
Not because we should all smile while somebody nearly runs us into a divider.
Just because I do not particularly want to give someone I will never meet another fifteen minutes of my day.
They already got three seconds.
That is enough.
The driver cannot hear me.
My nervous system can.
And frankly, it has other things to worry about.