More Red Light Lessons

If we observe the world around us, we have the opportunity to learn The Truth.

The Truth, capital T, that crosses all labels, genders, races, cultures, sexualities, and any other terms of stratification.

For example, the other day on my drive in to work, as I pulled up to a red light, I nonchalantly shifted my gaze about as we drivers often do.

I took that few moments of driver’s respite to soak in all the majesty that the industrial side street I was on could offer – the big chimney stacks spewing copious amounts of billowing white mist, lightly dusted with sulphur, the big rig trucks backed with skill into the truck level loading doors, the protective bumpers compressed to form a soothing seal around the edges.

As sometimes occurs, my eyes locked with the distinguished gentleman in the fancy, gleaming sports car beside mine.

But this time, it was different. It was electric.

We both stopped. Frozen in time.

He with his left index finger shoved knuckle deep into his left nostril, obviously scratching his nose. From the inside.

Me, unable to avert my gaze, trying to understand how such a small nose could take in such a large finger.

And then it hit me.

The Truth.

No matter who you are, or what you do, if you are inside of a car, at some point you will have an itch that needs scratching, usually at a red light.

And that is what he, the posh gentleman in the fancy, gleaming sports car, taught me.

Photo by Erwan Hesry on Unsplash