For a little more than a year I’ve been trying to drive my car in a spirit of forgiveness and loving kindness.
It was a dark and stormy night last November at an intersection under construction when an SUV honked furiously and at length at me. I was in the right, and, oh my, did I feel some righteous anger -- once I got over the relief at not being hit when the other driver didn’t see that the lanes curved sharply.
I was mad. I had at some time or other, unbeknownst to myself, given myself permission to be mad and to enjoy being mad.
It was a satisfying righteousness that was still there the next morning. I was hoping the other driver would drive through the intersection in daylight, see the error of his ways and be ashamed. I caught myself. It was pleasurable to be angry. I didn’t want to be taking pleasure over someone else’s driving errors.
During the next several weeks I began to notice that same anger rising in me when other drivers passed on the right, didn’t use their turn signals, honked, whatever. Not only had I given myself permission to be angry and to enjoy being angry, I was feeding the anger, calling the driver stupid and, again, feeling righteous.