I deserve better than this.
A few weeks ago, I was getting onto the freeway when an 18-wheeler started moving into the exact lane I was merging into.
And to be clear, it was reckless.
Not a gentle drift. Not a “maybe they didn’t see me” moment. More like: Oh fabulous, I guess we are all just fighting for our lives now.
There wasn’t really anywhere for me to go, so I moved onto the shoulder just long enough to get out of his way and took the exit I absolutely did not want.
I took a breath, rerouted, and got back on.
A few minutes later, when I needed to get over for my actual exit, car after car seemed to speed up just enough to keep me from getting over.
What should have been a simple fifteen-minute drive suddenly felt like every person on the road was late, irritated, and moving 80 miles an hour with a personal vendetta.
I could feel my body tighten.
So I softened.
Again and again.
Not because softening made the road less chaotic, but because it made me more able to navigate what was happening clearly.
And I was doing pretty well.
Until the last little straw.
I put on my blinker, started to move over, and a car from another lane hit the gas so fast that once again, I had to move back into my lane.
And there it was.
I was done.
My whole system wanted to scream: Are you kidding me?
But this is the part I keep thinking about.
That moment wasn’t just about traffic. It was one of those tiny, ordinary moments where my state could start shaping everything that came next.
I could walk into the next meeting irritated. Read an email through that irritation. Hear something differently than I normally would.
Then something else would happen. And before long, I could have an entire list of reasons why everyone was irritating, nothing was working, and the whole day had somehow gone sideways.
Except maybe the day hadn’t gone sideways.
Maybe I was bringing agitation into the next moment, and that moment was giving me another reason to stay agitated.
And then the next one.
That was when a thought came up that has been visiting me a lot lately:
I deserve better than this.
Usually when we say that, we are talking about someone else.
I deserve better than how they treated me.
Better than how they spoke to me.
Better than what they asked me to carry.
And sometimes, yes. Absolutely.
But this felt different.
This was about how I was about to treat myself after the moment had already passed.
The driver was reckless for a few seconds. I was about to let those few seconds change the state I brought into everything that followed.
Not because I deserve better drivers.
Although, let’s be honest, we all do. 😆
Because I deserve better than letting my nervous system stay activated by people I will never see again.
Better than letting one activated moment become the lens for the next one.
Because once we’re activated, the mind gets very good at building its case.
See? People are reckless.
Apparently everyone has lost their minds.
See? Nothing is working.
And suddenly, each new moment starts to feel like more evidence.
Later that same day, my assistant shared something that felt like the same lesson from another angle.
A few weeks earlier, she had traveled to another city for her sister’s board exams. The exams were postponed because of terrible storms, and she was tired, not feeling well, frustrated, and ready to be done.
In that state, the whole city felt awful. The roads felt cramped. The people seemed impatient. Nothing about the place appealed to her.
Two weeks later, they went back.
Same city. Similar logistics.
But this time, she felt better. More rested. More open.
And she couldn’t believe how different everything felt. The roads seemed wider. The people seemed kinder. The city felt more spacious.
Same city. Different state.
And this is the part I want to keep remembering:
Our state becomes a lens.
That doesn’t mean hard things aren’t hard, or that frustration, anxiety, grief, exhaustion, or disappointment are failures of mindset.
They’re human.
But there is a difference between feeling something and letting that feeling shape what comes next.
There is a difference between having a moment of frustration and bringing frustration into the next moment, and then the next.
There is a difference between anxiety visiting and anxiety driving.
And this, to me, is one of the most practical forms of self-care.
Not the kind we schedule after the day has already wrecked us. The kind we practice when we notice:
I am activated.
I am frustrated.
I am starting to build a case.
I am letting this moment recruit the rest of my day.
And then, instead of feeding it, we interrupt the pattern.
A breath. A walk. A laugh. A hand on the heart. A different question.
A moment of telling the truth:
This is real, but I do not have to bring it with me.
Because I do deserve better.
We all do.
Not better in the sense that life should never be inconvenient, messy, unfair, reckless, or disappointing.
Better in the sense that I do not want one difficult moment deciding how I meet the one that follows.
So this is the practice I am committed to:
Name the state before I obey it.
Notice when I am feeding it.
And when I can, begin again.
Not because the moment suddenly becomes perfect.
But because I don’t want one hard moment deciding what happens next.
If this reflection resonated, I'd love to continue the conversation.
Whether through a guided meditation, leadership coaching, a keynote, or another reflection, my hope is always the same:
To help you lead and live with greater clarity, presence, and possibility.
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