Sunday Newscape Magazine

I proudly slapped it on my car’s rear bumper and drove around for the first few days sneaking peeks at drivers behind me…did they see it? Did they get the message? Would it make any difference at all?

“Practice random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty.”

If there was one place in the world where that sentiment was needed, it was the freeways of southern California. And I was going to be the messenger…me and my aging Subaru. But, an unexpected thing happened.

From the moment that statement graced my car’s rear-end, I became more conscious of my own driving. After all, how in the world could I drive around preaching consideration to others if I drove like a road hog? I already considered myself a thoughtful driver – I let people merge in front of me, I move to the right-hand lane when not passing. Heck, I even waited to pass a car if it looks like I might cause the driver behind me to slow…even a little. I figure that my need to pass a car shouldn’t mean that someone else should have to slow down a little until my speed picks up.

Because I wore the do-gooder banner, I became obsessed with my efforts to show the world that I wasn’t a hypocrite. No one was going to accuse me of not walking my talk! I went out of my way to make sure that no diver or pedestrian could interpret my behavior as even slightly selfish. And, yes, I felt a degree of smug satisfaction that I was a superlative example of brotherly love.

But, something else – not nearly as benevolent – started happening to me. As I indulged in how caring I was behaving, I couldn’t help but notice how oblivious most other drivers were. Cutting me off, driving slow in the fast lane, turning without a signal. Were they unaware of what they were doing or were they just inconsiderate barbarians? I became increasingly judgmental and angry. How could they treat me - ME - like this! Me, president of the Be Kind to Others Club. Where was the justice?

Then one day it happened - he blared on his horn and made unmentionable hand gestures in my rearview mirror. And he did it again when he passed me. His glare could have melted steel. I had pulled right in front of him - barely missing his car with my back-end. I never saw him. He was in the blind spot between the rearview mirror and the side window.

When he pulled in front of me, slowed down and saluted me again, I knew he thought of me the same way I’d been thinking of all those other oblivious drivers out there. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry - that I didn’t do it on purpose. I wasn’t one of those bad drivers. Not me - I was one of the good guys. But, I never got the chance and I doubt he would have listened anyway. He already knew what he knew.

A few days later I picked up a large vase of cut flowers for a friend. They sat precariously in the passenger seat and I steadied them with my right hand as I drove. Which made going around corners challenging - I had a stick shift. On one such corner the car behind me, also turning, must have thought my turn was slower than necessary and they pounded their horn. Again, I new I was being judged as a lousy woman driver. Again I felt unjustly accused.

And it struck me - all the times I’d been impatient with a driver for driving too slow or not dimming their lights or not seeing me when they changed lanes. Everything I’d ever blamed someone else for I’d done myself. Not purposefully - not demonically. And maybe neither had any of the guilty drivers I’d convicted since my smug little bumper sticker turned me into Judge Karen.

I guess that’s what compassion is for. Seeing within another the innocent soul doing the best they can in this world. Knowing that none of us is perfect. Who is so innocent that they can cast the first stone?

The badge of honor that adorned my car - as a reminder to others not nearly so enlightened - became my shroud of humility. And from that time on I gave drivers the benefit of a doubt. Maybe they had a really good reason for what they were doing. All I knew was this: I didn’t know the whole story - so how could I judge?

When I sold the old Subaru, the bumper sticker went with her. I wonder how her new owner is dealing with it?

In Joy, Karen