Approaching things head-on, but maybe easing up on the gas

One Saturday evening, I got a pretty late start for a trip over White Pass to Yakima to visit my parents. My mom gave me the usual warnings. “Traffic could be heavy because all the hunters are out,” she said. “Watch out for animals!”

I promised to drive 90 mph blindfolded if she didn’t stop telling me how to drive.

Apparently, I was the only one driving east on Highway 12. I didn’t have to contend with the usual car or two that wants to drive 10 under, but doesn’t move over to the right to allow faster vehicles to pass.

The traffic coming from the other direction was not sparse. Regularly, a pack of vehicles approached, mostly big pickup trucks and SUVs, following closely behind another pickup towing a camper or edging up behind a motor home. The vehicles bunched so tightly, I could feel them pushing up against that front motorist, insisting they move along, or get the heck outta the way. More often than not, I saw two sets of headlights approaching me from that pack. Vehicles behind that lead vehicle were passing it, whether it was a passing lane or not, whether I was approaching them head-on or not.

Twice I had to slow down so the passing vehicle could make it. Once I slammed on the breaks and moved towards the shoulder, and the passing motorist, coming from the back of the line, still had to push their way between two of the bunched vehicles, where there wasn’t room, to avoid hitting me.

I wasn’t pleased with the vehicles that pushed up against the bumper of those slow-moving vehicles, especially the ones that insisted on passing from the end of the line, when there wasn’t enough time, and sometimes clearly wasn’t permitted to do so. But I understood them. I understood the frustration of wanting to maintain a safe and relaxing cruising speed, but running up to a vehicle that can’t go faster and won’t move over when the opportunity presents itself. Because I understood it, I didn’t allow that normal frustration to well up inside me like it usually does when I see people driving in ways I just can’t understand.

When I got to my parent’s house, I exchanged all the usual pleasantries. Almost at once, my dad started in on upcoming elections, asking for my take on guns, climate change, and soda taxes. He posed leading questions asking about what I would be voting on this season. It is a running joke in my family that my votes and my dad’s votes probably cancel each other out.

I felt like I was in my car, with a huge SUV barreling toward me in the highway. I could hold my ground with dad, insisting that he was the one in the wrong, that he needed to move and to yield, and risk the head-on collision or even the sideswipe that might come, causing serious damage.

Or I could slow down, ease back, and plan a safe exit to the shoulder if it came to it. I wouldn’t be turning around and driving the direction my dad was going. But I could slow down and allow him to talk about it.

While I listened to him speak, I imagined where he was coming from, just like I did with those hurried motorists on my trip over. I put myself in his place, looking at the concerns from the world he lives in, putting aside my own world for the time being. I truly listened, actively, not just waiting for my turn to speak. He did repeat talking points that I had heard from political ads, but he also expressed his real concerns about the issues, valid concerns and perspectives.

I realized that even though I didn’t change my mind about any of the candidates or the issues I would vote for or against, I did understand his perspective, the perspective of someone who casts votes very different from me. I didn’t have to turn my car around and head the direction he was going to understand him, and I didn’t have to hit him head-on just to be right.