Lately during my commute, either going up or down the 101 freeway between home and Tempe, I find myself attempting a spiritual exercise in love of neighbor. There are several spots along the route, which is almost exactly north-south during the entire length of my drive, where slight rise in the road lets one see forward along both sides of the highway.
There, hemmed in by the concrete barriers of either side, one can see the great flow of traffic---ten lanes in all, five in each directions. During the heavy times, it appears like a giant bidirectional river. At that moment, I try to imagine all the people in their vehicles and embrace them spiritually as my "neighbors". I cannot do this individually of course, but collectively. I try to love them---all of them, wishing for them the Good, as the Creator would define it, and as He would love them.
It is both easy and very difficult. It easy in the sense that it costs me nothing of effort to try to do this. Wishing for them their Good can be as straightforward as following the rules of the road and being conscientious in my driving. Once in early 2012 I had a near fatal car incident during which I lost control of my car on a mountain road in Colorado in a blinding snow flurry, and drifted into the ongoing lane head on. The thought that went through my head was how I was about to ruin someone's day, and it made me sad in that moment. So at the bare minimum, I want to avoid ruining someone's day on the highway, including the people who love me, and who would sad if something happened to me.
That's just level one, of course. Each one of those people in those metal boxes has their own life, and is struggling to find purpose and meaning in their own way. Some of them are no doubt people whom I would find difficult to interact with in life. Such is the way of humanity. Yet knowing that, I try to wish all of them an extra good day, that each might go to bed that evening feeling light of heart and knowing they are loved by God, no matter who they are and what they believe.
In that moment I see not the giant river of metal boxes, but the people inside, hurtling down the highway like me, shielded from each other by our cars.
Years ago I came to conclusion that our moving metal boxes into which we place ourselves are perhaps one of the reasons we find it difficult to love each other. It is easy to curse at a metal box.
4 comments:
Yes, we make assumptions about what is in a metal box because of the make or model or rude behavior. It is tempting a d even addictive. But then you find some brilliant old lady in a hat emerge slowly but with flourish from a tesla truck pumping her own gas with a mischievous smile on her face. "I just liked the look of it, dear."
Oops. Tesla trucks are not hybrid. But this old woman in the story makes them so.
It is rare for me to go out without seeing multiple Cybertrucks here. Scottsdale folks go through new cars quickly. Such is wealth here. I was at an intersection last year and saw three of them facing me, and one zoomed by in the express lane in the morning as I composed this post in my head.
In Tempe, one cannot drive a mile without seeing one of the Waymo self-driving vehicles. I wonder how my comments will be altered when FSD (ull self driving) becomes the norm. Will we all find it easier to be charitble towards each other when we are all passengers?
Quite an interesting point. I try to go through the regular check out grocery line whenever I have the energy. People usually don't have their phones out and you can make interesting or even uninteresting observations to one another and be sympathetic with a real person ringing you up . Lots of boxes make unthinking and no need for empathy. We are not on the same road when we are in a private box. Or something like that.
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