I travel a fairly busy road to get to work. Not D/FW or Atlanta busy, but there’s usually a steady flow of traffic to and fro even at 0700. So I’m rolling along the other morning and realize, “I’m the only car westbound. Really?” I start looking, and indeed, for the two-mile stretch of road that I can see, it is oh solo mio heading away from the sunrise. And I started getting concerned.
Now, this is silly. I don’t see the red glow of a grassfire ahead of me. There are no reports of a horrible wreck blocking traffic, or of the police diverting people away from my destination. No strings of emergency vehicles have raced past me. There’s no major road construction (yet. Subject to change on one second’s notice, or so it feels like.) Why am I getting concerned?
It seems to be a human thing that if everyone is going to other direction, you stop at least for a moment or two and think, “Should I be worried? What do they know that I don’t?” That nagging feeling that perhaps this once the crowd is right, even if you know intellectually that this is just a quirk of traffic and that it could be bumper to bumper over the next rise.
To my mild surprise, nothing untoward happened on that drive, I didn’t see any cause for the lack of traffic going my direction, and I got to work on time, as planned. But still, in the darkness of a pre-dawn winter morning, when all the headlights are coming towards you and you don’t see anyone in the rear-view mirror, you have to wonder . . .