Never Mind Random Acts of Kindness
There is a very short on ramp to the Gardiner Expressway eastbound at the CNE. Any city driver knows the importance of committing to the merger while on the ramp: that is to say that unless you are up to or approaching the prevailing speed on the expressway by the time the merger lane ends, you will be in big trouble. We've all seen the shy perhaps out of town driver who, lacking trust that they would be let in, slowed down in the hopes that those travelling at 90 k would find a way. That tactic having failed, there they are at a dead stop, end of the runway (so to speak), no momentum and of course no space big enough in the traffic to accommodate them going from 0 to 90.
I, however, do know these roads and have decades of experience merging, and there I was the other day committing on the ramp to increasing my speed in order to join in the not-too-busy-post-rush-hour traffic. And I came as close as I'd ever want to knowing the inside of a vice grip: me in the middle between an imposing current model Lincoln on my left and the concrete and steel rails on my right. The Lincoln driver took none of the options open to him to ensure we didn't collide: not adjusting his speed (up or down), not moving into the centre lane. Only my guardian angel and me hitting the brakes at the last moment allowed him to pass with a hair's breadth from my side mirror.
My adrenalin was pumping to flag my fear, and right behind that, my anger. What was he thinking that he would risk his own safety, that of his passenger, as well as the new vehicle of which he was no doubt fond, if not proud? I was outraged because I had no option and he refused to exercise his. There is no greater fuel to anger and rage than powerlessness: he could do something if he chose, he didn't, and I couldn't. It seemed only logical that he would accommodate me or my vehicle in his own interests, never mind the courtesy of road etiquette.
My first assumption in this early reactionary state was that he was one of those aggressive drivers who simply has to be first. He has to dominate the road. From that stance, he would see me and determine not to let me in, making sure I knew who was the alpha dog. This argument also supports other dynamics at play: male vs. female driver, sleek grey status car vs. red quasi-sporty car.
First the fear, then the anger, and then I settled down to the middle lane, steady of vehicular speed and of heart rate. At this point I became aware of another emotion: sadness. It felt a bit cruel that someone would need to do this, to play chicken with me. Why do we do these things? Treat people badly? I hadn't done anything to him, I wasn't driving badly, I'm not a bad person. Why wouldn't he, you, one choose kindness? Why not deliberately give the other vehicle a chance? Would the Lincoln driver have acted the same way if he'd recognized the car as that of his best friend?No, you can be pretty sure he would have adjusted to allow his friend in. Why is his friend, in this setting, any more worthy of that kindness than I am?
These are the roots of road rage, of course: from outrage springs the fantasy of retaliation. Fortunately, my inner process wasn't finished.
My questioning train of thought lead me to assumptions and the fact that his actions may have been predicated on these kind of assumptions: that I was aggressive, that the ramp was longer than it actually was, that it was for me to make this work (for me to adjust my speed down) rather than for him. Now, can you see where this is going? In my outrage I of course wanted this to be about him: he should have anticipated the driving needs of the moment: he's in the power position and therefore he should be the initiator of the act of kindness. But the flaw in my theory shows up under the heading of "assumptions". What did I bring to the situation? I assumed he knew the road and was paying attention, whereas in fact he may have been from out of town, having to attend to many things other than me. For that and other reasons he may not have known this ramp was particularly short; he may have thought I had - or we had - more time and space; he may have been caught by surprise as he was coming parallel to me and just didn't have the reflexes to do something about it.
So I'm left with my own desire to experience kindness coming back on me and requiring me to enact what I believe in. Giving him the benefit of the doubt becomes my act of kindness and yes, I choose to do this. It works for me both literally and philosophically. I feel better because I am released from anger and fear and sadness - all toxic emotions that I don't need to carry around with me all day. I don't have any possibility of resolving this confrontation with him, but it turns out I don't need him in order to release the experience. I can do it all by myself. And even if he did intend the opposite of kindness and was out to get me and take out his hard day on me, I still benefit because I haven't internalized something that doesn't belong to me. So never mind random acts of kindness, how about intentional acts of kindness?
I, however, do know these roads and have decades of experience merging, and there I was the other day committing on the ramp to increasing my speed in order to join in the not-too-busy-post-rush-hour traffic. And I came as close as I'd ever want to knowing the inside of a vice grip: me in the middle between an imposing current model Lincoln on my left and the concrete and steel rails on my right. The Lincoln driver took none of the options open to him to ensure we didn't collide: not adjusting his speed (up or down), not moving into the centre lane. Only my guardian angel and me hitting the brakes at the last moment allowed him to pass with a hair's breadth from my side mirror.
My adrenalin was pumping to flag my fear, and right behind that, my anger. What was he thinking that he would risk his own safety, that of his passenger, as well as the new vehicle of which he was no doubt fond, if not proud? I was outraged because I had no option and he refused to exercise his. There is no greater fuel to anger and rage than powerlessness: he could do something if he chose, he didn't, and I couldn't. It seemed only logical that he would accommodate me or my vehicle in his own interests, never mind the courtesy of road etiquette.
My first assumption in this early reactionary state was that he was one of those aggressive drivers who simply has to be first. He has to dominate the road. From that stance, he would see me and determine not to let me in, making sure I knew who was the alpha dog. This argument also supports other dynamics at play: male vs. female driver, sleek grey status car vs. red quasi-sporty car.
First the fear, then the anger, and then I settled down to the middle lane, steady of vehicular speed and of heart rate. At this point I became aware of another emotion: sadness. It felt a bit cruel that someone would need to do this, to play chicken with me. Why do we do these things? Treat people badly? I hadn't done anything to him, I wasn't driving badly, I'm not a bad person. Why wouldn't he, you, one choose kindness? Why not deliberately give the other vehicle a chance? Would the Lincoln driver have acted the same way if he'd recognized the car as that of his best friend?No, you can be pretty sure he would have adjusted to allow his friend in. Why is his friend, in this setting, any more worthy of that kindness than I am?
These are the roots of road rage, of course: from outrage springs the fantasy of retaliation. Fortunately, my inner process wasn't finished.
My questioning train of thought lead me to assumptions and the fact that his actions may have been predicated on these kind of assumptions: that I was aggressive, that the ramp was longer than it actually was, that it was for me to make this work (for me to adjust my speed down) rather than for him. Now, can you see where this is going? In my outrage I of course wanted this to be about him: he should have anticipated the driving needs of the moment: he's in the power position and therefore he should be the initiator of the act of kindness. But the flaw in my theory shows up under the heading of "assumptions". What did I bring to the situation? I assumed he knew the road and was paying attention, whereas in fact he may have been from out of town, having to attend to many things other than me. For that and other reasons he may not have known this ramp was particularly short; he may have thought I had - or we had - more time and space; he may have been caught by surprise as he was coming parallel to me and just didn't have the reflexes to do something about it.
So I'm left with my own desire to experience kindness coming back on me and requiring me to enact what I believe in. Giving him the benefit of the doubt becomes my act of kindness and yes, I choose to do this. It works for me both literally and philosophically. I feel better because I am released from anger and fear and sadness - all toxic emotions that I don't need to carry around with me all day. I don't have any possibility of resolving this confrontation with him, but it turns out I don't need him in order to release the experience. I can do it all by myself. And even if he did intend the opposite of kindness and was out to get me and take out his hard day on me, I still benefit because I haven't internalized something that doesn't belong to me. So never mind random acts of kindness, how about intentional acts of kindness?
posted by Pat Archer at 9:27 AM
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