Spinning Wheels

It's a small hill, not normally something that people would notice. Cars routinely stop on this hilly stretch waiting for the light to turn green. This morning, it wasn't so routine.

I was in the left-turn lane. A few cars ahead of me started changing into the middle lane at the same time. I followed suit. I assumed there was a broken down car. Instead there was a silver sedan, spinning his wheels.

The street was icy. And the slight incline was enough to make it difficult to go from stopped to starting.

As I switched lanes, my car wobbled and slid, searching in a panic for traction. It was about the third or fourth time in twenty minutes that I wasn't in full control of my car. It was easy to see how that could have been me in that silver sedan.

I didn't have to be in that car to know what he was feeling. It's a terrible feeling. You're stuck. You have a wheel and a gear shift at your disposal, but you're helpless. Meanwhile, seemingly everyone else is passing you. Is is it because they have better tires or did you just catch an unlucky break, a patch of ice, a steeper slope?

Some days feel like that. Spinning wheels. Pressing the pedal down and getting nowhere. And everyone else is getting by just fine.

It's easy to think that if someone would stop and get out and give you a slight push that you could just get where you need to be. But the truth is that no one is coming. Because everyone has their own car to deal with. Everyone has their own places to be.

So it's up to us. We have to get out and push our own car up the hill. Or let it slide all the way to the bottom and try again.