Ever since I started driving a clunky old Volkswagen from the 1970s, my approach towards traffic has greatly mellowed.
It wasn’t the slowness of the thing that got me. Nah, the bigger-than-stock mystery motor in the back of my Baja had a nice punch of torque and its small size and soft suspension made cutting through New York City pretty quick as far as things go.
It was more that I was driving a car just to drive. I never had to get anywhere right this second. I was never late. I didn’t mind if anybody cut me off. Hell, come on in. Merge into this lane. It’s fine. I’m not going anywhere important.
This has had a significantly detrimental effect on the time it takes for me to drive anywhere.
I still end up taking a a good two or three extra hours to get anywhere on a long road trip. I mostly amble along, taking in the sights and sounds and stopping for fresh air the desire strikes. This came to mind as I watched some dumbo cut off half of Connecticut in a merge: