Keep Your Eyes On The Road Ahead

Reposted for the New Year

I wrote this story “way back” when I was a newbie on Substack (that was only July so I’m still sort of newbie). Many of you might have missed this one, and most do not know why it matters.

This whole writing gig is about making connections, right? So I thought I would post one of the threads to my overarching story since my goal for 2025 is to promote a little book I wrote without feeling icky about the “promote” word.

You see, not many of us like the self-promotion or the marketing side of writing, but we do want to share our story with others for a purpose. My short narratives on Substack provide just a flavor of my book that is yet-to-be published. My hope is always that readers will find themselves somewhere in my stories and want to read about something deeper, for I did not just write my book for myself—I wrote it for you. I wrote it for anyone who has ever felt the ground give out below and had to claw & climb up to solid ground.

And my father plays a major role in my book.

At fifteen years old, I took my drivers’ training course, perhaps, a little more seriously than most of my peers. The instructor showed a movie of a strong-young-man-turned-paraplegic after crashing into a tree without wearing a seatbelt and, therefore, catapulting through the windshield. Images flashed across the screen of the seat where the boy would have been left had he been fastened in place. It was completely intact. He would have been fine had he not hit the glass. And that film secured a lasting impression and accomplished its purpose for this new driver.

 I always wore my safety belt after that, even though it was sort of a new idea for the rest of my family. I don’t think it was a law in the 1970s. Even as passenger in childhood, I remember having to search and yank out the belts that had been shoved into the creases of the seats.

During my permit driving practice with my dad coaching me, I listened to his calm instructions. “Ease over to the next lane while keeping your foot on the gas. None of this sudden switching from one lane to another,” he said with abrupt hand gestures imitating the car weaving unsteadily. It’s funny how I can still hear his voice all these years later when I drive along the highway.

One recording often on repeat in my mind comes from my overly cautious stopping at a red light that was almost a run right through because I was nervous about the driver behind me. He didn’t look like he was slowing down enough and might bump into me if I stopped suddenly at the light. As my eyes went back and forth from what was in front of me to the rearview mirror, my dad emphatically urged me to stop.

“Don’t worry about what’s behind you. That guy will take care of himself. Your job is to keep your eyes ahead of you. That’s more important. You have a little more control over that. You can see what’s coming and avoid hitting people.” I still wanted to pump my brakes, signaling for that tailgater to slow down.

“But what if he does hit me? He looks like he’s going to. Then what?” 

“And then what is right. You can’t control him. You can only control yourself. Chances are he won’t hit you, but if he does, it will likely be just a little tap. It’ll wake him up. But the consequences are much higher if you run through a light ahead of yourself. That would be a lot worse for you. The drivers behind you are like the past. They are not your responsibility. You can’t influence them--you can’t change what they do.”

Every time I come to a red light and find myself tempted to check my rearview mirror, I hear my dad telling me not to worry about what’s behind me. The past will take care of itself.

Who knew my driver’s training would be a metaphor for my life.

[If you find yourself trying to deal with the past and appreciate my dad’s words that “the past will take care of itself” so you can move forward, please feel free to♥️ or comment. I love hearing from you.]