Drive

“By forgiving, we take back the power we gave to the world to do us
harm.
By forgiving, we release ourselves—and the one who has hurt us—from the prison of our resentment.
By forgiving, we free ourselves to live in the Eternal Now, without
holding on to the past.
By forgiving, we acknowledge the Christ (the perfection) within
ourselves and the offender.”

from Ernest Holmes, “The Science of Mind”

I’m just about over an incident from last Friday that tried to lay a claim on me. One of the ironies surrounding the road rage that appeared to be aimed at me is that I was on my way to State Farm to start my auto insurance in New Mexico. Having made the decision earlier in the day to become a New Mexico driver, I had finally gone for my driver’s license and to find out what is I need to do to register my car in this state.

I guess the process makes sense to whoever sets policy at the motor vehicle division, but as an interested party, I can see some government use of tax dollars that just might be called waste. Take a number and wait, go to a window to show proof of residency and for further instructions on waiting, then to another window for a picture and then further instructions on waiting, and so on. But that’s for another story. The point is—I have a temporary paper photo ID folded around my Texas license, and once I get a copy of the title from the financial institution that holds the lien on my car, I will be ready to return to the MVD with proof of residency, proof of insurance, proof of ownership, and cash or check (no credit or debit cards accepted!).

To return to my story. I’ve seen more than a little of rude, rude drivers in Santa Fe, but on this day I was in Albuquerque, where—until this day—I hadn’t experienced the nasty attitude of entitlement that is all too common among Santa Fe drivers. Pedestrian rights? Hardly. Parking lot etiquette? Drive defensively. As I made my way north on Carlisle Boulevard, I was the first in line at a traffic light. Red changes to green, and before I can hit the gas, the Toyota 4Runner behind me lays down on the horn. I accelerated into the intersection. Obviously pissed off by my attempt to move ahead, the woman—whose vanity license plates read a fancy word for graceful, slim—sped by me on the right, raging verbally, shooting me the finger, and then hitting her breaks several times as we both moved north on Carlisle. She continued to act like a crazy person, waving her hands and shaking her head. I commented to my friend Tom that maybe she is from Santa Fe.

“Maybe her husband is from Texas and dumped her,” Tom offered. (Speak impeccably. Don't make assumptions.) Tom had already advised that I “stay back—you don’t know what she might do”. Maybe she just doesn’t like Texans, I thought. I lost count long ago of the number of times in the last three years that I’ve wrestled with the notion of giving up my Texas plates—largely because I know lots of New Mexicans are hostile toward Texans. Such attitude has a long-standing history here, in spite of the fact that Texans contribute substantially to the state’s economy. It’s called biting the hand that feeds you. But that, too, is for another story. The big factor is the cost of auto insurance in New Mexico because of the large number of uninsured drivers, in spite of a law that requires everyone with a driver’s license to also carry liability insurance. There are lots of ways of creatively, or not, getting around this law. Just take advantage of the opportunities to slip through the cracks. As it turns out, I am totally satisfied with the insurance rates offered me.

My instinct with the crazy woman sporting the vanity license plate was to find out who she is and report her. Such naivete makes me smile only a little at the same time that it confounds me. Let it go. Let it go. Remember the Four Agreements. Speak impeccably. Don’t take things personally. Don’t make assumptions. Do your best. I guess these don’t leave much room for revenge. So today I am probably 80% over last Friday’s frightening encounter with road rage. One of the burdens with which I struggle is an insistent need to understand what causes people to act the way they do—especially towards me. Don’t take it personally, I remind myself. Let it go. Don’t stay attached; bless her and send her own her way. This would be the advice of my friend Gayle. And to this, I would remind myself further to remember this experience with road rage the next time I over-react to some situation where I want to pummel someone else. Maybe she had an emergency and needed to go to the aid of a family member or a friend. I won’t know, and it doesn’t matter. Let it go.

So is forgiveness at play here? Do I need to forgive the driver of the Toyota 4Runner? Yes. I do feel a little the victim of someone else’s baggage. But that’s just it. It is someone else’s baggage, and so, just as I might want someone else to cut me slack when I act the crazy, I need to do the same. I want to want to do the same. “Bless you. Just take care of yourself,” I counsel myself to say to anyone who has failed to remember that his or her rights end where my rights begin. Forgive me for appearing to be in your way. I forgive you for putting your life, my life and the life of my passenger and friend in danger. Let it go. Don’t stay attached. Surely this is the lesson to be gained here.

Drive—Santa Fe, New Mexico (December 14, 2010)
R. Harold Hollis