The Slow Car Ahead of Me

My boys,

I was stuck behind a slow car tonight.

Two-lane road.

No place to pass.

Thirty miles an hour where the sign said fifty.

I was tired.

I wanted to be home.

And I felt that heat start to climb up the back of my neck.

I said something under my breath I would not want you to repeat.

Then the car turned into the hospital entrance.

And I saw, in the light from the sign, an old man driving with both hands on the wheel.

And a woman beside him, leaning against the window.

I do not know who they were.

I do not know what kind of night they were having.

But I know it was worse than mine.

I drove the rest of the way home very quietly.

I have learned that I give myself a hundred explanations a day.

I was short with someone because I had not slept.

I was late because the morning went sideways.

I forgot because I was carrying too much.

All of it true.

And I have learned that I give strangers almost none.

The man who cuts in line is rude.

The woman who does not smile back is cold.

The slow car is careless.

The same mind that is so patient with itself becomes a judge the moment it looks at someone else.

I am trying to change that.

Not by pretending everyone is a saint.

Some people are rude.

Some are careless.

But most of the time, I do not know.

And when I do not know, I want to guess the way I would want to be guessed about.

Maybe he is lost.

Maybe she just got bad news.

Maybe the slow car is driving someone it loves to the hospital.

Here is the strange part.

The kinder guess almost never costs me anything.

I still get home.

A few minutes later, that's all.

But the angry guess always costs me something.

My peace.

My evening.

A little of who I want to be.

I have discovered that only God sees the whole road someone is on.

I see one stretch of it, through a wet windshield, at the end of a long day.

That is not enough to judge a person.

It is just enough to be patient with one.

I love you.

— Baba

---

Question: Whose behavior have you judged this week without knowing what they were carrying?

Moral: Give strangers the same explanation you would want for yourself; you rarely know the whole road someone else is on.

Disclaimer: This story reflects real experiences and philosophies behind Backyard Brew. It is shared to inspire perspective and intention.

Author: R. Solace