You'd flag it for anyone else.
A sound in a friend's voice, and you're pulling over, asking, staying. You've done it a hundred times. It's who you are.
But when it's your own engine losing power, you do something different. You keep the hazards off.
You coast. You manage. You answer "good, busy" while something under your hood is grinding metal. Because signaling would make it real. And because you're the one who eases over for others, and you never learned the other role.
Here's what riding the slow lane teaches you about breakdowns. The dangerous car isn't the one with flashers going. Everybody sees that one. The dangerous one is stopped dead with no lights, at night, looking exactly like a parked car until it's three feet away.
That's you, telling everyone you're parked on purpose.
Turning on the hazards is not the collapse. It's the thing that prevents it. One flick. It doesn't explain, doesn't apologize, doesn't ask for a tow. It just says: don't count on me at full speed today.
The one thing:
Say the smaller true thing to one person this weekend. Not the whole story. Just the flashers.
Josh
P.S. I'm doing the 30-day Ash Journal myself right now, in public. One page a day, no edits.
Five minutes. One prompt. One line of ash. The first seven days are free: truevitalyou.com/journal