Here’s the thing about “Good Drivers”: There are none.
Or at least there are none that I know or could describe.
The only descriptors one can give another driver are those that have negative connotations.
For example, I know “Fast Drivers,” who don’t hold my safety in high regard.
I know “Slow Drivers,” who don’t think that my time is of paramount importance.
I know “Jerky Drivers,” who don’t want me to be able to sleep during the drive.
Then of course there are “Aggressive Drivers,” who tail people dangerously close, and occasionally honk, all in the name of keeping things moving.
I know plenty of these subcategories of drivers, who probably encompass one-quarter to half of all the people I have ever driven with. Everyone else is simply thrown into the other category of “Drivers.”
Not “Good Drivers.
Of course, there are Good Drivers out there, but I am just blind to them. The way I see it, there is a hierarchy of drivers, but everyone is so incredibly aware of who is below them on the hierarchy, that they are blind to how they rank to those above them. Anyone that I don’t categorize in one of the negative subsets is automatically on par with me. Clearly, nobody can be a better driver than me.
Regardless of where I stand in this imaginary hierarchy, my recent Aha moment involving pieces of lint and the onramp to the Garden State Parkway made me realize that I might not be as high up as I once assumed.
But there’s so much to do while driving!
Driving is a really good time to learn about yourself. While you are alone behind the wheel, the logical hemisphere of your brain is kept slightly busy with the act of driving, allowing your creative hemisphere to wander.*
*I totally just made that up, but it sounds so right that I’m not even going to bother Googling it.
All I know is that many of my writing ideas have come while I was driving, including what you read yesterday and today, and what you WILL read tomorrow.
Additionally, I have worked out problems while driving.
This typically happens after a bad day at work in which a coworker has treated me unfairly or a customer has been a shit head. It only takes one of these particularly bad encounters to affect me negatively for the rest of the day.
Obviously, the first place I go after work is my car. This is my first time to analyze the situation and vent my frustration. And as I pull out of the parking lot, my self-therapy begins.
The therapy usually consists of reliving the scene, but this time I sternly bark obscenities at the coworker or customer who angered me. I am able to vent my frustrations in an imaginary scene of rage in which I make clever jabs at their personality, appearance, or hygiene, all while making solidly pointed arguments as to why they suck. If I miss a thing or two, I go back and do it again.
By the time I get home, my anger has dissipated and I can enjoy my life again.