A car on the shoulder this morning. No hazards. Just sitting there.
Most people held their lane and their speed. Sixty-five miles an hour, three feet from somebody's worst morning.
The truckers didn't. Every one of them eased over a lane. Not because a law told them to. Because when you've spent thirty years watching what a shoulder can turn into, you move.
Here's what I've noticed after years of driving next to them: the ones hauling the most weight are the most careful around other people's breakdowns.
And here's the part that follows you out of the truck.
People pull onto the shoulder of their own lives all the time. A coworker gone quiet. A friend who stopped texting back first. Most of them never turn the hazards on. They just sit there, three feet from traffic, while everyone holds their lane.
You don't need to know what happened. You don't need the story. You never know where somebody's been, or what they're about to do, and you don't have to.
You just need to give them the lane.
The one thing for today:
Somebody near you is on the shoulder right now, no flashers. Ease over.
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