Breaking the Madness Cycle, One Peace at a Time

Foraging through dusty boxes for Christmas gift wrap in the garage rafters recently, I bemoaned the approaching holidays.

Will this be the year I slow down, relax and enjoy the season? Spend less money and focus more on relationships with family and friends?

Of course, I ask myself that question after every Halloween, when the spooks go back into packaged hiding to be replaced by holly berry wreaths and Christmas trees.

Why would this year be different?

Drawing a ribbon-decked teddy bear--which I had fought over in a department store last year--into my lap as I sat on a rung of the ladder, I looked out the open garage door and mused over last year’s disastrous season.

Christmas caught many of us by surprise last year. Turning our calendars forward after Thanksgiving, we realized that somehow we had one fewer week than usual to prepare for the big day, with all its peripheral activities.

After getting over the initial shock, my first thought was to dash to the post office for several sheets of Madonna-and-Child postage stamps before they disappeared. Lots of people had similar ideas, and the line ran out the door. For nearly half an hour we crept along; finally I stood at the front of the line.

An aged man ambled in and stood in front of me, leaning on his cane. Who’d this gramps think he was? I spied a few disgruntled looks but no one brave enough to say anything to the old man. When the next customer was called, he stepped up. I couldn’t believe it! Maybe I should show more respect for the elderly, I grumbled and tried to forget the incident.

*

Next stop, the mall. Heading up the San Diego Freeway toward South Coast Plaza, I approached the Bristol Street offramp, where a construction crew had the right lane blocked. Normally in this situation, two lanes become one, zipper-style.

But holiday madness had turned an amiable driving maneuver into a contest of speed and guts. Driver after driver on the right sat in silent fumes as cars in the left lane whizzed by like a string of beads. Four cars hugged bumpers past me before I was given room to merge.

In the parking lot, the conflict raged on. Scores of cars idled in the aisles, waiting like vultures for shoppers headed toward their vehicles. Windows down, shouts of “Where are you parked? Wanna lift to your car?” rang out across the crowded lot. Other motorists-turned-Indy-racers screeched around corners and sped to seize the few remaining spaces.

Finally a car began pulling out just ahead of me. What luck! I engaged my turn signal and inched forward, giving the other driver enough room to back out his Jeep. As the Jeep turned its wheels and headed up the aisle, a red sports car burned rubber around the bend just ahead of me and stole my parking space.

Stunned that someone would be so brazen, I glared at the other driver as she got out of her car and slid a pair of sunglasses into her purse. “What part of my turn signal didn’t you understand!” I yelled as she walked nonchalantly by.

That’s it, I decided. If I’m going to make it through the holiday season, I’ll have to beat these guys at their own game! I can play hardball--drive fast and focused; practice rudeness with finesse; and never, ever look anyone in the eyes. I am a rock, I am an island, I told myself.

*

I spent the next two weeks rushing from malls to grocery stores to parties in a fury of egotism. No one would take advantage of me again! I perfected the rolling stop and brake-gas technique to beat other motorists off the mark, even got good at tailgating. I wasn’t bashful in the parking lot either.

With one week until Christmas, the church musical arrived. My two kids scurried into their costumes, and by the time hair and teeth were brushed, we were running late. We piled into the car, picked up two other budding young stars and headed for the church.

Driving down a main thoroughfare, headlights approached from behind. They disappeared from view, but I knew the car was back there.

As I neared the church parking lot, I turned on my signal and cautiously entered the left-turn lane. I began to turn.

Suddenly the other vehicle swerved around the rear of my car and veered ahead of me into the lot. I jerked the steering wheel to the right to avoid hitting it and nearly lost control of my careening vehicle.

After jolting to a stop, a man jumped out of the other car and ran into the choir building. Enraged, I parked and followed him.

I ran into the room, but everyone seemed in place; the director sat at the piano, playing with one hand and waving directions with the other as the choir sang the first few measures of “O Holy Night.”

That did not deter me.

“Who owns a black Lexus in the parking lot?” I bellowed. One set of eyes darted in my direction. A man, early 40s, hurried toward me.

“What happened to my car, did you hit it?” he asked.

“No, you almost hit me!” I began, relating the scenario to him.

He didn’t see anyone in front of him, he told me. Ludicrous! In an instant, all the cheats, line-cutters and road hogs converged in the vortex of my mind. For the next minute I spewed all the venomous anger I felt inside, relishing that I was in the right.

He stepped back, eyes wide. His jaw dropped, then his mouth shut. We were silent for a moment. Then the words I least expected came tumbling out of his mouth.

“I . . . I guess I was preoccupied. I was wrong; I’m sorry.”

“Yeah . . . OK,” is all I could manage to say. I felt like I had come to a showdown, ready to kill or be killed, only to discover neither of us had any bullets.

“I hope the next time we meet it will be under friendlier circumstances,” the man said with a faint smile, then walked away.

*

Sitting on the ladder in my garage, hugging the teddy bear I have uncovered among the holiday trappings, I picture the driver of that Lexus as I’ve seen him several times in the past year, sitting in the church choir loft.

Will this year be any different?

I hope so. Maybe I’ll buy some scented candles to enjoy with my Christmas CDs, and when I do go out, I’ll try not to get so ruffled at the holiday madness surrounding me.

If nothing else, I’ll remember what my adversary taught me a year ago: There’s still a place in this world for humility and kindness.

And when I see him at the church musical, I’ll stop and wish him a merry Christmas.