Dudes in Trucks Need to Calm Down
First of all, nice truck. I know it cost a lot and that you can carry heavy stuff from the hardware store and tow heavy things and your friends ask you to help them move and that the gas mileage is ridiculous. But you love it.
Second, in case you haven’t noticed, tensions are running high.
People are TIRED. They are SAD. They are DEPRESSED. They don’t know how they are going to pay their bills. Their marriages suck. Their kids are fucked-up. Their church only wants their money. Their boss is pushing them to do the work of three men. Their in-laws are moving in soon.
You are sitting high in the cab of that truck, high above the fray. You are escaping the madness. You are THE MAN with THE TRUCK.
You don’t HAVE feelings. If you do, they consist of Anger and Patriotism.
You deserve all the free passes, the forceful merging into traffic, the colorful gestures and language, the harsh revving, the benefit of the doubt when you cut people off.
You are a WINNER. Second place equals first Loser, amirite?
Traffic is not about GETTING SOMEWHERE. It’s about WINNING.
When you feel that rumble in the back pocket of your jeans, that’s not beans, that’s a total lack of muffler.
Or here’s another option:
You could go bench-press that angst into oblivion before getting into a vehicle. Or talk to a good friend about how you’re scared you’re going to get fired, or that your wife is cheating, or that your son is somehow “different”, or that America is not like it was when your daddy was young.
Maybe get into touch with all that grief you have locked up in your belly. That anger? It’s repressed grief. You need to watch Old Yeller by yourself and cry. Get it out. Go yell at the ocean, or in the woods, or into a canyon, or in a thunderstorm. Primal shouts. Say ALL THE THINGS. ALL OF THEM.
Because those generations of men before you left you with a legacy of bottling things up. When you bottle something up, it ferments, it expands, it goes bad, and it explodes.