I drove down the highway in the right hand lane. My cruise control was on. I approached a slower moving vehicle. In my side mirror, I saw a car moving up on my left. It was too close for me to switch lanes. I had to wait until it passed.

The car ahead grew closer. The one to the left was slowly overtaking and passing me. My eyes shifted back-and-forth between the car ahead and the one to my left which had almost passed me. With little room to spare, the car on the left moved ahead, and I was able to switch lanes, before touching my brakes, and shutting off the cruise control.

The above situation happens many times each week. “Why don’t you want to turn the cruise control off?” I ask myself.

I think it’s because I’m cruising along at a steady speed. Life is moving forward. I’m happy. The pace is perfect for me. An obstacle appears in the distance. It gets bigger and bigger. Life has to slow down. A change is coming. I have to tap my brakes.

In the mid-nineties, Georgia and I were cruising. I had a job I liked, two young kids and a beautiful home on the ocean. We were rolling down life’s highway with the cruise control on. An obstacle appeared. My company announced layoffs. I had to slam on the brakes.

It took a year to find another job. We were behind a truck on a long uphill climb and had to go slow. We moved to another city, settled in, and put life on cruise again.

Three years later, the new company announced they were selling part of their holdings. I saw the truck in the distance again, but this time I quickly changed jobs – switched lanes – and moved from Canada to the USA. The pattern continued. We cruised for awhile, but always the brakes had to be applied. Something always came up to block us.

I slammed on my brakes and came to a complete stop. Ahead were miles of cars. They surrounded me and squeezed close on all sides, invading my space. I had just been told, “Mr. Smith, there is nothing more we can do. Georgia is very sick. It is time to turn off the life support.”

We inched through the traffic. After what seemed like a long time, I passed the wreck and saw the screen on the monitor connected to her. It had been counting her heartbeats, but now the small dot moved along a flat line at the bottom of the screen.

Traffic inched around the obstacle. For many miles, the it was slow going, but over time it picked up. I found myself moving faster, but there was still too much traffic to use my cruise control. There were still too many obstacles to deal with.

I pulled off the main road and drove leisurely along. It was time to get my life onto a less clogged highway. The road wound around sharp turns. It rolled over emotional hills. It was slow but somehow healing – comforting.

I met Ginny and hit the cruise control again. Life was going well. The road ahead was clear for hundreds of miles. The pavement was smooth. We turned a corner. My foot touched the brake. My stepdaughter, Heather, and her three boys moved in. It was time for all of us to push down on our brake pedals.

Recently, Heather and the boys moved out. They are on an open highway and cruising along. Ginny and I moved into another clear lane. Life for all of us is moving on a traffic free highway.

Wait! What’s that in the distance?

Michael T. Smith mtsmith@qwestonline.com