Bridge and tunnel

Maryland Route 200 connects with I-95 North via a long, curving ramp that is very high at its topmost point, before it curves downward, depositing northbound drivers onto the interstate.  Maryland 200 is a fairly new road; it opened to traffic in 2009 or so, and I began driving it regularly about a year later.  The first time I saw the ramp to 95, I nearly bailed and headed south instead; that's how high the ramp looks from the exit lane.  Oh HELL no, I thought.  And then I screwed up my courage and got on the ramp.  Like lots of other things that look really high or long or wide from a distance, it wasn't quite as high up close.  Like lots of other things that seem scary at first, it wasn't so bad.

Patience has never been one of my chief virtues, and I'm never less patient than when I'm driving.  "AAAAAUUUGHHH!  GOOOOO!" are the two words that I yell most frequently when I'm behind the wheel.  But every so often, when I'm on the on-ramp to 95 North from Maryland 200, I'll be stuck behind a driver who will hesitate, and then drive very slowly up the ramp.  I never honk at those people; in fact, I don't even roll my eyes or heave a great big long-suffering exasperated sigh.  I drive that ramp every day now, so I'm used to it, but I remember my own trepidation the first time I saw it from a distance, and how tightly my hands gripped the steering wheel.

*****

I'm a recreational worrier.  Not only do I worry about things that are likely or certain to happen; I also conjure up elaborate worst-case scenarios, and then worry them almost into existence.  I wish this weren't so, and that I wasn't like this, but it is and I am.

Sometimes, the penchant for advance worry has its advantages.  If you run out of anything, anything at all, then come on over.  I have enough toilet paper, bottled water, and non-perishable food to withstand a siege, and I'll share.  Some people have too much of everything because they're compulsive bargain-hunters, or hoarders. I, on the other hand, actually believe that I'll have to withstand a siege at some point, and I'm just planning accordingly.

Preparedness aside, however, most times the pre-emptive worrying takes me down ridiculous rabbit-holes of unnecessary panic and anxiety. I used to have to drive through the Fort McHenry Tunnel in Baltimore pretty often.  I never lost sight of the fact that I was DRIVING A CAR UNDER A HARBOR, and the sight of the tiled walls could induce an attack of hyperventilation.  TILE.  Because just in case the tunnel was breached, the nice tiled tunnel tube could easily accommodate the deluge of water, in which I would drown.  Did you ever see the movie "Atonement?" (1, 2, 3) If not, then you should.  There's a scene in which a character dies in a bombing raid during the London Blitz.  A bomb hits a water main in the Underground (which doubled as a bomb shelter), filling the tunnel and drowning all of its occupants.  I've driven through that tunnel enough times now that I don't panic anymore.  Just the same, though, I seldom go through it without momentarily imagining my bloated, dead body floating in fetid harbor water.

*****
As always, there's little to no point to any of this. But if you read this blog on any regular basis, then you knew that going in.  There went three minutes or so of your life, which you're never going to get back.  I offer no warranties, and I make no representations.

But wait, there are several points here:

A. When it all hits the fan, and the end of civilization as we know it is at hand, then stop by.  I'll have food, toilet paper, and soap to spare.
B. Things that appear to be scary from a distance are often not that scary up close.  (Imaginary snakes are a perfect example.)
C. Just because something CAN be done, it doesn't follow that it SHOULD be done. Should we really dig tunnels to run beneath large bodies of water? Maybe not.

*****
Three pieces of valuable life advice.  Your time was not wasted after all.



NOTES: 
1. I've never been actually angry at an author for a plot twist or a surprise ending; that is, until I read the end of Atonement.  It's been at least eight or nine years, and I'm still a little annoyed. Unlikely that I'll ever meet Ian McEwan, but if I ever do, he'll have some explaining to do.

2. When I love a book, I usually assiduously avoid the movie version.  "Atonement" was an exception and it's almost as good as the book.  It made me even angrier at McEwan,  though.  He's on my list.

3. "Atonement" vs. Atonement. MLA training dies hard.