I came face to face with my worst self today. Not because I did anything different than any other day, but because I finally saw myself clearly when that worst self was on full display, where before my vision was obscured. I looked; I looked again. I saw it plainly. I am an obnoxious driver. I have seen the asshole. She is me.

It’s not just that I am that driver. The context of this “aha” is richly ironic. I am a dedicated practitioner of yoga. And a seriously joyful yoga teacher. My mat brings me bliss, as does guiding others through their practice. In class, I talk a lot about breath; the Now; uncovering our best selves; feeding joy. This morning, after teaching a lovely class, I floated to my car, off to participate in the last day of a workshop on Bhakti yoga – the yoga of devotion. Bhakti is one of the limbs of yoga – another way to walk the path toward self-realization and connection to our oneness with all of creation. It had already been a fabulous weekend, and I was eager for one more session.

I climbed into my Eco Boost Explorer complete with yoga studio sticker, Namaste front plate, and a matching Namaste plate frame on the back. Not running late (for a change), I had plenty of time to get to my destination. But once I pulled out into traffic, my worst self reported for duty. Every single car on the road was moving Too. Damn. Slow. I am not kidding. They were going the Speed Limit. Seriously people? Try as I might, I could not break free from those obstructions in my way. I yelled at them. I rode bumpers. I cut in between cars with just enough space to do so. Then came my reckoning. Making a pretty dick move around a car (the driver had beeped at me – there was plenty of room asshole!), I got stopped at a light. Braking, I calculated that this car would end up next to me, and considered an unnecessary turn just to save face. I didn’t. I hadn’t done anything wrong – so I stayed put.  When the car pulled parallel, the passenger spoke up: “Wow. That really got you far. Way to go.” I ignored him and looked straight ahead. Jerk. My heart was beating fast, but I was certainly not the problem.

Heart still pounding and behind yet another car, my mind raced as I tailgated this newest slow driver. What luck I was having…I could seriously scream! It didn’t take long for this driver to get irritated enough with me that he started to play the brake game – and gestured as I passed him, racing up a turn lane to go right. These guys were ridiculous! I am trying to get somewhere for shit’s sake!!!   Dumbass stupid slow drivers!

Except for some reason today, I was ready to look again at my actions and the story I created around them. I stopped at my favorite lunch place for a healthy smoothie and crispy kale chips. Munching and slurping, a nagging question began to tug at the edges of my awareness. What if I was the problem? Then like a lightening bolt I knew it. I am the problem. Shit.

I drive around on a daily basis sowing anger and agitation in myself and others. Behind the wheel of my car, I am purely ego-driven. All the work I have done to bring light into the nooks and crannies of my life has not lightened my car. It is a dark and unconscious place, and in it I am small and mean. I have danced around the acknowledgment of this penchant before. I have joked about how funny it is that I leave yoga full of bliss, and end up yelling at other drivers mere seconds into my journey home. Ha-ha! So much for enlightenment!

Maybe it is my workshop. Maybe it is just way past time to acknowledge that it really isn’t funny. But all of a sudden I just know that I can’t be who I want to be and continue to treat other human beings as obstacles in my path.

When I got to my workshop, I had missed the discussion on Kleshas, which in yoga philosophy are defined as “obstacles of the heart.” Catching up on my notes, I paused over the definition of Abhinivesa: fear of letting go of stories. And then I knew. I can’t tell myself the same old stories anymore. The problem is not that other drivers are jerks. It isn’t funny that I transform into Mr. Hyde once I shift into “drive.” By not clearly seeing my behavior for what it is, I create an obstacle in my heart that sows hate. And then I cover it up with a story of blamelessness.

So now I own it. I am my absolute worst self behind the wheel of my car. But I am not doomed eternally to be an asshole. I can hold in my heart the recognition that other drivers aren’t in my way. They are just on the road. It’s that simple.

The bat-out-of-hell driver with the Namaste plate – she’s a bad punch line. I don’t want to be her any more.   So for the drivers who encountered me on the road today: You were right. It was me. I am sorry. Namaste.