And yet we complain

You’re not standing on a bus-stop in a freezing rain. You’re not hanging on for dear life in a train packed with hundreds of steamy humans. You’re not on a bike using your own energy to propel yourself through streets treacherous and smelly with vehicles. You’re probably not even sharing your car with a fellow traveler whose departure and arrival times and locations are somewhat near yours.
You’re comfortably supported in an upholstered seat, heat on, the stereo playing your favorite tunes, or maybe NPR. The sounds and smells of the outside world are blocked out by your windows. You are basking in the most indulgent method of transportation imaginable. And you’re pissed. The car in front of you insists on going 65 in the slow lane and won’t move over.
Maybe I shouldn’t say “you.” Okay, I should say “me.” I’d be pissed if it were me. I mean, maybe not since I found religion. I’m a reformed driver. Most of the time. Well, I try to be reasonable.
I recognize that driving my car from place to place is the method of transportation that has the most negative impact on my world. Not only does it consume natural resources, including the tremendously popular “air,” it’s also bad for the whole neighborhood. Rents go down where traffic is high. People don’t like to live on “busy” streets. Busy means lotsa cars.