The other day, I drove up about an hour north to visit one of my best friends who just had a baby and to bring her the cooler full of freezer meals our friends made for her. The particular stretch of freeway between my work and my friend’s house is notorious for turning into a parking lot at the commute hour, so I tried to leave a little early, but by the time I was able to pick up the food and get on the road, I still found myself sitting in it.
Down at my right, my phone sat face-up in the cup holder, my Maps app informing me I’d arrive at my destination around 7pm. But as I sat there in bumper-to-bumper, barely moving inches, the minutes on the ETA display crept up…7:07…then 7:15…now 7:26. Staring at the screen, I started to get stressed out, realizing I’d have less and less time for newborn cuddles and catching up with my friend. I tried to just be present and not worry about what time I’d arrive. Simultaneously, I tried to will the traffic away, but there it sat—stubborn as the antsiness rising inside me.