Enlightenment? Maybe tomorrow

Even though much of my life these days feels out of my control, I'm trying to be a better human being.  Stop snickering - it's true.  I realized that once in a while - OK,  maybe a lot in a while - I'm not as loving toward my fellow earthlings as I should be.  I often lose my patience when others behave stupidly, I can't handle narrow mindedness, and rudeness makes me crazy. 

Choosing to be tolerant when what I'd really like to do is smack the stupid right out of someone doesn't always come easy to me.  While I may not always be successful, I've gotten to the point where I don't immediately criticize or react to someone else's behavior.  Instead, I try to understand where they might be coming from:  are they having a bad day?  facing a difficult challenge?  just visiting from Cleveland?

So, as part of my quest to be more accepting of others, I've begun to imagine everyone I encounter as helpless infants.  Everyone loves babies, right?  They're innocent, adorable, and absolutely incapable of hurting anyone.   A baby's spirit exudes nothing but pure love until the cynicism of adulthood erodes it away. 

I'm trying to honor the fact that everyone doesn't start out as difficult or curmudgeonly as they appear to be in the checkout line at the grocery store or while shopping the aisles of Costco. 

I'm also trying to set a good example for my kids.  I tell them that everyone they meet was once someone's precious baby, deserving of our love and respect even if we don't feel like loving or respecting them in that particular moment.

The kids don't always buy it.

Recently, while running errands with Evan, we seemed to encounter an overwhelming abundance of challenging drivers.  I'm sure you know the ones:  braking for no apparent reason, applying make-up while driving, and - my personal favorite - weaving so much you expect they must be making a sweater.

Through all of these frustrations, I didn't react, choosing instead to remind myself that each of these drivers used to be someone's precious baby.

I felt pretty smug about my new enlightened attitude, thinking that my son Evan must surely admire my patient and serene attitude. 

And then, out of nowhere, a car cut in front of us and abruptly stopped, causing me to slam on the brakes in order to avoid a collision.  Evan and I flew forward against our seatbelts. We stopped short of hitting the other car by mere inches. "Whoa!" Evan exclaimed. "What was that guy trying to do?"

I was shaken, but did my best to remain calm.  "He probably didn't see us," I reasoned, as we resumed driving with Someone's Precious Baby in front of us.

Soon, the driver began swerving erratically from one side of the lane to the other.  I could see the profile of his head turn to the right and then drop below the level of his seat headrest.  He appeared to be searching for something under his seat. 

            "What's he doing?" Evan asked.

            "I don't know," I said.  "Maybe he dropped something and is trying to find it."

Someone's Precious Baby was quickly turning into Someone's Dangerous Nightmare as he continued to pay more attention to whatever was on the floor of his car and less attention to his driving.  A few times, his inattention caused oncoming cars to swerve out of the way when he failed to keep his car from drifting into the other lane of traffic.

            "Shouldn't he pull over if he dropped something?" asked Evan, already exhibiting more sense about road safety than the driver in front of us.

We continued to follow the distracted driver, although now allowing a much greater distance between our car and his.  If this guy was going to drive this erratically, I didn't want to become involved in an accident with him.

Both of our cars stopped at a traffic light.  Suddenly the driver's side door flew open on the car in front of us, and a young man in his twenties jumped out.  With the traffic light still red, he ran to his trunk and opened it.  He pulled two small torpedo-like things out and slammed the trunk lid shut.  Evan and I looked at each other, too stunned to voice the obvious questions:  what are those things and why did he suddenly need to retrieve them from his trunk?

            "Well, maybe now that he has his torpedoes with him, he'll be able to concentrate on his driving," I offered.

Not a chance.  The light turned green and Torpedo-man was once again back to fussing around on the seat of his car.  I could no longer find empathy or excuses for this man who drove so carelessly.  I felt helpless and afraid as I watched him swerve from right to left and back again, into the lane of oncoming traffic. 

            "For crying out loud, this crazy jerk is going to kill someone!" I screamed, having reached my limit of frustration.

So much for my plan to be a role model of tolerance for Evan.  I tried to correct myself.  "What I mean is, I hope that Someone's Precious Baby gets where he's going safely."

            "It's OK, Mom," said Evan.  "I think that even Someone's Precious Baby knows he's a terrible driver."

Evan was right.  Instead of tolerating everything, maybe the wisest thing for us to do is to recognize trouble when we see it.  The next best thing after that is probably to take a different route home, away from the crazyflakes.

We can always try this tolerance stuff tomorrow.