It has always been rather stifling to me that no matter how much goodness that comes in my life, I’m still left with a bit of anger and frustration. And maybe it’s because I don’t understand, but no one ever tells me anything, either. I’m supposed to be the one who figures everything out for himself. No one thinks I might need a little guidance, because I’ve supposedly always been heads and shoulders above the rest. But in reality, it’s always been the opposite. I’ve been striving to catch up with the rest of the pack.
Whenever I go out driving, I see it as a symbol of how I want to live my life. I’m quite the leadfoot, and I take it quite personally whenever Mom or Dad or Adam tells me to slow down, usually on an open road on a clear day. If there’s nothing in my way, why shouldn’t I be able to go as fast as I want? Sure, there’s always the chance something will pull out in front of you, but I’m alert enough to slow down in plenty of time before hitting it. The folks always mention the cops and their fancy radar guns, but I’m not intimidated by them like the folks are. If I get caught and ticketed, so be it. It’s not like I’m causing any actual harm to anyone (raised blood pressure doesn’t count for the purpose of this statement). Of course, the symbolism is heightened on the freeway and other high traffic situations, where I seek to pass as many vehicles as I can, but I know there will be some who will pass me (the whole mantra of there’s always some better, always some worse than myself). I just want a healthy balance of the two, not a situation where practically everyone will pass me (the way my brother drives) or I pass everyone (my leadfoot’s not that heavy). Why I can’t ever seem to live the way I drive is beyond me, but maybe it’s because there are too many slowpokes in the left lane. They always are the bane of driving.