My First Day Became My Last Day In A Freeway

 

The American freeway is not a transportation network; it is a high-speed, multi-lane gladiator arena where the weak are consumed, and the brave are just people who haven't checked their blood pressure yet.

For the average person, driving side-by-side with commuters racing as if they have a 2:00 PM appointment with the Almighty is a "learning curve."

For me, it was a spiritual awakening that ended with me vowing to stay in the passenger seat until the end of time.

My first encounter with the freeway was less "The Fast and the Furious" and more "The Scared and the Sweaty."

As I merged onto the asphalt, I didn't see fellow commuters; I saw the archetype of the Grim Reaper (si Kamatayan) in the rearview mirror, wearing a hooded robe and wielding a scythe—which, in the U.S., is apparently a standard accessory for anyone driving a lifted pickup truck.

Before I even touched the steering wheel, my mind was a chaotic symphony of destructive fantasies:

The Dodge: I imagined dodging a Dodge, only to realize that in reality, the Dodge was hounding my Honda.

The Mazda: I dreamt of mashing a Mazda, but instead, I was the one begging for mercy from a Mercedes.

The Fiat: I had a reverie of flattening a Fiat, but the only thing that ended up flat was my self-confidence and possibly my bladder. (Well ... it's stress incontinence ... dummy!)

By the time I hit 60 mph, I had already experienced enough "presence of mind" lapses to qualify for a permanent retirement from the road.

As a clinical instructor, my life’s mission is to impart knowledge. And here is my greatest pedagogical contribution: You do not need to be an experienced driver to tell other people how to drive.

Think about it. As a blogger ... I spend my days translating complex legal vlogs—replete with Pro Bono, Res Ipsa Loquitur, and other "Lawyer’s Mumbo Jumbo"—into accessible language for the masses.

I dissect Latin terminologies like a surgeon so the laymen can understand what I am saying ... also the practical implications of a lawsuit.

[ THE LEGAL-DRIVING CORRELATION ]

* Latin Term: "Habere Praesentiam Mentis" (To have presence of mind).

* My Reality: "Habere Mentem Volantem" (To have a mind that is currently flying somewhere over the Pacific while I'm in the fast lane).

If I can explain a writ of certiorari without having passed the Bar, I can certainly explain the psychological benefits of humor while being a "Matakotin" (fearful) driver who refuses to touch a gear shift.

There are two types of people in America: those who drive, and me—the person who has the money to buy a car but treats cars like high-voltage explosives.

I am not ashamed to label myself as matakotin (scaredy-cat), antokin (sleepyhead), or lumilipad ang isip (daydreamer).

While others hide their flaws behind tinted windows and aggressive lane changes, I wear mine like a badge of honor.

-The "Pro" Driver Persona - Focuses on the road, checks blind spots, and masters the 10-and-2 grip.

-The "Me" Reality - Wonders if the Latin root for "accelerator" implies a fast-track to purgatory.

-The "Pro" Driver Persona - Views the freeway as a necessity for survival in the U.S.

-The "Me" Reality - Views the freeway as a 12-lane test of one's proximity to the afterlife.

-The Psychological Pivot: Making light of my quirks isn't just about being funny; it's a coping mechanism.

Accepting the TRUTH—that I am fundamentally ill-equipped to operate heavy machinery at 80 mph—is the ultimate form of self-care.

It fosters a positive outlook on who I am: a brilliant translator of Latin, a dedicated clinical instructor, and a permanent commuter or a pedestrian.

A person who enjoyed walking to the mall or the church ... instead of enjoying the comfort of an air-conditioned Toyota.

To all the novice freeway drivers out there: do not bottle up your bad driving anecdotes. Examine the psychological benefits of humor.

Laughing at your own mishaps enhances your cognitive function under pressure—or, at the very least, it makes the people in the car with you feel better about the fact that you’re crying while holding the steering wheel.

I may not be the one "hounding a Honda" or "bucking a Buick" anymore, but I am comfortable in my own skin.

I have realized that my kind of toy is a dictionary, not a Mercedes-Benz.

So, if you see someone looking confused on the sidewalk while holding a Latin-to-English lexicon, wave hello. It’s probably me, enjoying the safety of the pavement.

You don't need a driver’s license to be a navigator of life. Sometimes, the most heroic thing you can do on a freeway is decide to stay off it.