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It was late afternoon a few weeks ago, and the low winter sun was blinding as I drove to an appointment. Sunglasses didn’t help, holding my hand up to shade my eyes did nothing, and there was no way to pull off the road because I was hemmed in by other cars. I tried not to panic, but it was hard to see the lanes in front of me. Newspaper articles I had read came back to life in my mind. Drivers involved in car accidents had blamed that winter sun for blinding them. Now I fully understood and believed them. I imagined addressing an austere judge in a courtroom — but, your honor, I couldn’t see.
I inadvertently drifted into the left turn lane and it became apparent that I had a far more important threat than an imaginary judge. As we stopped for a red light I could see that the man driving the car behind me was gesturing at me and slamming the steering wheel. He blasted his horn once, twice, three times.
I breathed in and out slowly, trying to stay calm, and then tried to inch forward towards a lane to my right. I was halfway into the lane when the car behind me screeched up to my left. The driver was red in the face, screaming at me through our closed windows. And then it happened. I saw him reach into his glove compartment and pull out a small black object. It looked like a gun. It occurred to me that it was likely the end of my life.
I had no time to think. I had to do something. Instinctively I rolled down my window and gestured for the enraged man next to me to do the same. He rolled down his. “Sir,” I said, “I am so so sorry. I was blinded by the sun. I accidentally drifted into the left lane. I didn’t mean to offend you. Please accept my apology.” I looked him in the eyes and a remarkable thing happened. I saw his eyes tear up. Then he spoke.
“What have I done?” he said. “I am late for an appointment and I was stressed. It’s me who owes you an apology.”
I felt as though my life had become a surrealist film. I was writing the dialogue as I said, “Apology accepted.”
I thought he would make a left turn and drive away but that’s not what happened. “We are all so stressed out and angry all the time. It makes us behave in shameful ways. Look how I have upset you.” His dialogue was decidedly better than mine. I had to up my game.
“There is so much violence in the world. Shootings. Mass murders. Wars. Maybe this is a way to try to work things out.”
He became almost exuberant. “Yes, yes. We have to talk to each other. Work it out.” And then I saw him put the black object down.
The light turned green. I had to advance. “May god bless you. God bless you,” the driver called to me.
“You too,” I said. And I meant it.
“You literally dis-armed him,” my friend, Andrea Campbell, Ph.D., LPCC in Santa Fe, New Mexico said when I told her the story.
“Disarm is derived from the Latin to give weapons. In the moment that you disarmed the other driver you allowed yourself to be vulnerable and without weapons of blame, shame or words of attack. Your vulnerability disarmed him and provided a moment of pure vulnerability."
Vulnerability is a state of emotional exposure that accompanies uncertainty, while being armed involves a degree of trust in a chosen weapon whether stick, stones, bombs, guns or degrading words. Primates rely upon these weapons to self-defend. Research has shown that vulnerability is a trait of emotional maturity. Thus, vulnerability is associated with strength of character. Psychological vulnerability is related to cognitive beliefs that reflect one’s sense of self-worth.
Campbell’s analysis really spoke to me. The other driver and I did meet at a place of vulnerability for us both, which diffused an aggressive and threatening situation.
