Creative Nonfiction | Life
The Day I Found Zen in a Traffic Jam
A Wednesday afternoon, circa 2005
So, it’s a Wednesday afternoon, circa 2005, and I’m stuck in the kind of New York traffic that would make a Buddhist monk lose his cool. Picture this: I’m in my beat-up Honda Civic, sweating buckets because the AC decided to quit on me. My iPod is shuffling through old-school jazz, trying to keep me sane. The car ahead of me, an obnoxiously yellow cab, hasn’t moved an inch in what feels like an eternity.
To my right, a pretentious guy in a Porsche is yelling into his phone, probably closing some million-dollar deal while his eco-friendly car hums silently. To my left, a middle-aged woman is applying mascara with the precision of a neurosurgeon, somehow steering with her knees. The sensory overload is real — honking horns, the smell of hot asphalt mixed with exhaust fumes, and the occasional waft of street food that makes my stomach growl.
Around this point, I glance in my rearview mirror and see the guy behind me, an older man in a beat-up truck, shaking his fist at the sky like he’s cursing the gods. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, feeling my patience thinning like the ozone layer.
Then, out of nowhere, my phone buzzes. It’s my buddy Tom, who thinks he’s the protagonist of every story. He’s calling, probably to complain about the latest existential crisis. I answer, partly to distract myself from the madness around me.
“Hey, man, what’s up?” I say, trying to keep my voice casual despite the chaos.
“Hey, you won’t believe this. I just had the craziest breakdown at work,” Tom says, his voice a mix of excitement and panic. He starts telling a story about how his boss, who he calls ‘The Antichrist,’ made him redo a report for the third time – typical Tom drama.
As he rants, I notice a street vendor pushing a cart through the gridlock, selling ice-cold sodas and pretzels. The sight is surreal, like a scene out of a dystopian novel where food vendors navigate apocalyptic traffic jams. I roll down my window and flag the guy over, feeling like I’ve found an oasis in the desert.
“Hold on, Tom,” I say, handing the vendor a crumpled bill for a soda. The cold can feel like salvation against my sweaty palm. I take a sip, and it’s pure bliss, the kind that makes you momentarily forget you’re trapped in a metal box on wheels.
“Hey, you still there?” Tom’s voice snaps me back to reality.
“Yeah, yeah, I just needed a drink. So, what did you do?” I ask, genuinely curious now.
“I told The Antichrist to shove it and walked out. Can you believe it?” Tom sounds triumphant, as if he’s just slain a dragon.
“That’s… actually kind of awesome,” I admit, feeling a weird mix of envy and admiration. Who hasn’t fantasized about telling off their boss and storming out?
We talk longer; Tom’s story makes the time pass faster. But then I hung up, and the reality of my situation hit me again. I’m still stuck, and the cab ahead hasn’t moved an inch. That’s when the epiphany hits me, out of the blue and as clear as day: life is this traffic jam.
I mean, think about it. We’re all stuck in our lanes, honking and cursing and trying to get ahead, but in the end, we’re all just trying to get somewhere. And maybe, just maybe, we need to find those little moments Like a cold soda on a hot day – to keep us going.
Suddenly, the traffic starts to inch forward. It’s not much, but it’s something. I take a deep breath, feeling oddly calm. Maybe it’s the soda, it’s perhaps Tom’s crazy story, or maybe it’s the realization that sometimes, you need to chill out and let things flow.
As I finally start moving, I glance at the Porsche guy still yelling into his phone and the mascara lady expertly navigating her way out of traffic. I chuckle to myself, feeling a strange camaraderie with these strangers. We’re all in this together, after all.
And in that moment, stuck in the chaos of a New York traffic jam, I found peace. Who would’ve thought?
And that, my friends, is how I found Zen in a traffic jam.
Ani Eldritch 2024
