Under Construction

I was stuck in traffic today, the kind of slowdown on the freeway that limps along at a snail's pace. I started out listening to music, switched to reading something from the glove box, and eventually gazed irritatingly at the sea of cars ahead. My mind wandered into imagining there was a significant hold up, say an accident requiring a dramatic rescue or an overturned big rig that had spilled its load of lima beans. I felt better, even noble, while I waited, thinking Hey, no problem: that can't be helped! The delay is totally understandable!

The belly crawl continued mile after mile, toward what eventually became three people on the side of the road in orange safety vests, one in the truck, one watching and one filling a little hole in the road on the shoulder. Excuse Me? When I had the chance, I put real ATTITUDE into dashing past with a sour look on my face. I wanted to scream: Hey there, you... yes you, look alive! Grab a shovel! Don't you see the disruption you are causing? Why isn't the guy sitting in the cab out there with the team, working to get it done? Tempis fugit.

Why are we so irritated by these kinds of things when we know everywhere in life is under construction? I worry that the modern pace of life has condensed situations and people into pixels that we have lost our compassion to know.

In news articles and online, I get a kick out of the 'Click here for complete story' prompt. How ridiculous a concept is that! Stories don't end: they, like us, begin small, as phrases, and mature into paragraphs, then into chapters which eventually transforms into a bestseller. Life comes as a full length feature with sequels, as life builds on life, family on family, holding the world. There are no cliff notes for it, no chance to read the last page to see how it turns out. Until the obit is written and the last page is penned, until the world comes to Parade Rest, it's all up for grabs.

Thank God for that.