If I wasn’t driving 15 miles per hour one summer day, I wouldn’t have braked for my neighbor girl as she skipped across the street after her red ball. If I was speeding on a small country road, I wouldn’t have witnessed a doe leap towards the woods and lap up water from a pond. I could hurry downhill- I could buzz through boulevards- I could dash out of driveways- I could rush- race zip zoom- hustle and hurry- I could reduce my driving time. Sooner or later, later or sooner, I’d arrive at my destination.
I believe in driving the speed limit.
I have united so many middle fingers: the middle-aged soccer moms, veteran truckers, newly licensed, and the students from driver’s Ed. Each day their gestures become more obscene. Their horns, pushy and bossy, scold, “Move out of my way!” These actions have the opposite effect on me. I. Slow. Down. I believe if you’re rushed to be somewhere you need to start leaving earlier.
My driving skills compare to those of an old man wearing a fishing hat or a ninety year old woman who has to crane her neck above the steering wheel in order to see the road. As people pass me, they watch out their windows. Sometimes I wonder if they are excepting to find an old man sporting a hat or a crazy haired ninety year old. They continue to stare even when they realize I am not a wrinkly wanderer, but a teenager abiding traffic laws. The ancient drivers I am often compared to, have taken pleasure in giving me ‘the finger’. I am slow and cautious and I revere my surroundings. I believe in respect even for the people who travel at a slower pace.
I believe driving 25 keeps kids alive and safe drivers should receive discounts on car insurance. Traffic jams are not stalls but opportunities to collect thoughts and rock out. I believe the journey is more exhilarating than the destination, because it’s not about where you are going; it’s how you get there.
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