I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm an anxious person. And there are few things that make me more anxious than driving in heavy traffic. I can drive just fine in the traffic I grew up around. The kind of traffic that consists of one main, two maybe four lane, road and a bunch of small back roads. But where I'm planning on living in the near future (Houston, TX) is going to be a true test of my coping abilities! Sure I'll still have my easy back roads, but the highways here are ridonkulous!
This is at the "Oh Sh*t" Point
It seems that every time I get behind the wheel in heavy traffic, my brain shuts off and I can't think of what move to make next. The only time I consider my self a good driver is when I am mad about something. For whatever reason, when I get angry about something I grow a pair and my fear of traffic goes away...I guess I get that F**k it mentality and just go for it. But I can't stay mad all the time, so what can I do to get over my fear of driving?!? I think the obvious answer is to just get out there and throw myself into it.
The thing that would really help me in this feat would be to become more aggressive. In this type of traffic you can't be so considerate. I'm the type that assumes that somebody will eventually let me in but if you want to get in the flow in Houston you better be prepared to force your way in.
Maybe what I need is a driving persona. A personality I can adopt when I'm driving in big cities that will allow me to be as bold as needed to weave in and out of Houston's hellacious highways! This persona needs to be an asshole who knows how to get around the rules without breaking them. She has to be impulsive and won't hesitate to make a move! She needs to be confident in her skills and act like she owns the road.
I'm picturing a bad-ass bikeresque chick with a hot-pink bandanna and a cute cropped leather jacket. Not to be too butch, she's also wearing skinny jeans and black patent leather Stilettos (not the safest for driving but she's just that damn good).
Her name is........Sheba.
When I was a little girl, my dad used to take me to the house of an old Chicken farmer named Mr. Hendrix, who raised all kinds of rare breeds of chickens in his backyard that were worth a good bit of money to those in the chicken business and were pretty much priceless to him. So priceless that he had a guard dog, a hundred pound pitt-bull, especially trained to protect his valuable chicks. Her name was Sheba and she was viscous. If ever some scoundrel came on to his property trying to cash in on his chickens all he had to do was utter the phrase..."Sic 'Em Sheba" and she was off, straight for the ass of the thief.
So from now on when I get behind the wheel to venture out into to the hell that is Houston, TX traffic, I'll think to myself, "Sic 'Em Sheba" and just attack it!