Commute

Out on the road you may notice that there are drivers. And then there are drivers. I have finally come to accept myself as the latter.

This realization has come through a year of driving daily on the freeway at rush hour. I hate that commute. I hate how long it takes. I hate the patches of standing traffic.

But.... I love driving it.

I don't look forward to it. I don't relish the thought of more time on the freeway. I wish I worked closer to home. But when I'm out there in the middle of it, feeling the rush, it is decidedly exhilarating.

There are many types of drivers. Those who hug the far right and drive a few miles under the speed limit. They don't bother me. To each his own. There are those who stick to the middle and follow the speed of the car in front of them. Great for them. There are those who plant themselves in the fast lane and choose an arbitrary speed that has nothing to do with the speed limit or the flow of traffic and don't move for anyone, regardless of the line of cars behind them or the law that says one must move to the right if someone else wants to pass. These drivers cause me the most grief. There are those drivers who zip around everyone at unholy speeds, passing much too close, and endangering all. I shake my head at them.

And then there are those who know. Those to whom driving is a challenge. A challenge to get home as quickly as possible (without breaking the law or endangering lives). It's all about analyzing, betting on lanes, waiting for the moment when it all opens up and you're free and clear. It enthralls me.

But if I never had to drive anywhere again, that'd be nice too.