50 in a 25 zone. Not the first time. But if Officer Kelly gives me a ticket this time, I lose my license.
I am oddly calm, no palpitating heart or excuses coming to mind. He asks me what he should do. I’ve put him in a terrible position, he says. I want you to trust me, I say. I will change, I promise.
And then Officer Kelly (who never does this, he says) lets me off with a warning. My eyes fill up. Not relief… gratitude. I need my car.
I drive away and it seems impossible to stay at 25. As soon as I think about where I’m going and what I’ll do when I’m there, I speed up. I can’t think about anything else but the amount of pressure I’m putting on the gas. Nothing else.
This is so hard.
Now EVERYTHING has to be different. I’ll have to manage my time at home so I can leave earlier. Ugh. I will have to endure a slower ride on streets I travel routinely. Double ugh and some whining.
My ego is bruised. Yoga, meditating, calming, slowing down, mindfulness – Hah! Clearly I have kept my speeding habit compartmentalized in the shadows.
I’m curious about this speeding thing and the mini-patterns lurking inside it.
It’s important to me that all of us (readers, browsers, comment-makers, and me) feel profoundly safe and secure. I ask that each of us be responsible for managing the energy that we bring here. We’re friendly and kind on this site. Just so you know.