Once every four years a president gets elected.

And the United States cares about soccer.

And Buffalo, N.Y. gets hit with a legitimate, not-just-schools snow day.

A couple Tuesdays ago all my meetings were cancelled for the first time since 2009. It was a nice change of pace, but I was infected with cabin fever early in the afternoon and justified myself an errand to run.

En route I wrestled my Honda Accord to a sliding stop at a red light.  The gray Ford Escort was waiting for his green. When he was given the go, the car stunted forward a foot or two. It didn’t look up for the challenge. Traction was nowhere to be found. Neither were his snow tires. Needing to clear the intersection, the driver pumped the gas pedal even harder. Suddenly the transmission was making promises its wheels couldn’t keep and the car remained paralyzed.

Finally, just as his green was set to expire, the car cleared the intersection and was on its way. But it wasn’t until the driver let off the gas that the wheels could slow down enough to teach the wintery discharge some humility.

Sometimes too much of the right thing can become the wrong thing.

Sometimes it’s hard to accept that.

I’m at what I consider to be a critical point in my life. I’m getting married in August. My fiancee and I just bought a house. Doors are beginning to open for me professionally. But I don’t always feel like the man that I am on paper. I still feel like I’m just trying to figure everything out. Am I disciplined enough to be the person so many people are counting on me to be? Or am I about to bounce a bunch of proverbial checks?

I believe you can relate to this. That’s good, right? Believing that others share your troubles is one way of minimizing the feeling of helpless isolation. But recently I’ve learned a better way – to embrace it.

People describe life with driving metaphors all the time. But they’re not specific enough. Life is like driving in the snow. We just want to be moving forward in a nice, warm car. But nothing begins that way. It begins with your wheels spinning. Your car sliding. And maybe some f-bombs. You’re praying for any kind of traction or anything that suggests you might be on course.

Pressing harder on the gas pedal doesn’t set you right. Neither does jerking the wheel or swearing louder.

The only thing to do is slow down. Have patience. And faith that your vehicle – in which you’ve invested heavily – is capable of moving you forward.

Then take a deep breath and realize you’re sitting in a 2,890-pound steel computer with climate control and your enemy is just a little pile of soft, white, fluffy stuff waiting for some seven-year-old to roll it in a ball and stick a carrot in it.

It’s going to happen.

And it just might happen sooner if you truly believe it, too.

Photo credit: Damian Synnott