It’s funny where I notice missing you the most. The commute home last night hit me hard and unexpectedly. My commute takes me through four major choke points, and for each of these I have a strategy. I hit my first choke point at the intersection of WA520 and I-405, through which a huge portion of the Microsoft population struggles from Redmond to their bedroom communities in Kirkland and Bothell. This always results in a back-up of all lanes as commuters with varying desires to not be seen as assholes jockey to let each other cut in line, while those not heading north desperately pile into the left lane to get around the mayhem. I’ve read a good line through the seemingly random scatter of cars, and can navigate myself ahead of the pack by alternating lanes nonintuitively.

My third choke point happens at the intersection of WA520 and I-5, where I turn north on the single lane exit to the four lane freeway that moves the bulk of Seattle’s traffic. This exit occurs right before on onramp from the University, which without fail piles traffic backwards to the middle of Lake Washington. Like the choke points before it, one can ratchet themselves ahead of the pack with well-timed lane jumping.

This is all just a long-winded way of saying I am a chronic lane jumper. I read an article a few weeks ago on a study about lane jumping, and how for the average commuter it provides little to no tangible value in overall trip time. I deeply suspect this is true, and yet I chronically switch lanes in traffic. Most people would conclude that the behavior is stupid, but they fail to understand that lane jumping is less about getting there faster, but about the appearance of control in a chaotic and helpless situation.

And so for decades, I’ve merrily jumped lanes on the highway, all in some vain attempt to feel in control, and get home maybe three minutes faster.

Somehow we got in the habit of talking on the phone, and out of convenience we started talking regularly during my commute. When we were talking, I didn’t care that the traffic was bad. I didn’t care that I was stuck at the light. And I especially didn’t care what lane I was in. I actually wanted traffic to be bad. The commute wasn’t something I dreaded. It was my chance to talk to you, and be the closest I could be given our circumstances. Even when we had nothing to say I felt calm. I was happy. When I’d get home, I’d circle the block, or drive a mile past my street and double back through a different neighborhood. Just so I could be with you.

Now you are absent. I hope temporarily, but absent still. Today I sat, stopped, in the lane with merging traffic, thinking, why am I here? Why am I not in the left lane, passing this nonsense? But I didn’t change lanes. I didn’t want to change lanes. I just wanted to be with you.