That’s Life Moving in Its Own Direction

I left the house early. It was Veteran’s Day, the roads were empty, and I had plenty of time to spare. I'd be early, like always.

Then, dead stop. Brake lights stretching to the horizon. Ten-foot progress every ten minutes. I sat there for forty-five minutes to move one mile, and my jaw was tightening with each passing second.

Fine. I'll take the shortcut through downtown.

Except Congress Street was closed for a parade. Cars everywhere. Crowds. Noise. Nowhere to go. My blood pressure climbing with each blocked intersection. I had to swallow my pride and crawl back to the highway like a scolded child.

I ended up getting to work at 9:30. Thirty minutes late. And nobody cared. Not my boss, not my teammates. Only me. But I stayed angry anyway. At myself. For the next thirty minutes, I replayed the morning like I could somehow reverse it. The parade, the jam, the turns. I blamed myself for something completely outside my control.

What would the Yogis say about that moment?