The day after the last big snow, as I drove out of Gloucester on my way to yoga, traffic was light and unhurried. Scenes refreshingly beautiful replaced the grimy, tattered, roadside landscapes of mid March on Route 128. My mindful-driving practice was humming along with my car’s heater. I was right there, right then, joyful and warm.
As I turned into the road that turned into the yoga studio parking lot, I realized a car was about to exit. However, this car was not exiting from its own lane. It was mostly in mine. And as I slowed to squeak by, my eyes locked with the driver’s and, I smiled a broad grin. Next, much to my amazement, his gentle, middle aged, mustachioed face twisted into an angry grimace. He tossed me the f-bomb… and flipped me the bird.