E il coraggio ha molti volti : il volto della generosità, della vanità, della curiosità, della necessità, dell’orgoglio, dell’innocenza, dell’incoscienza, dell’odio, dell’allegria, della disperazione, della rabbia, e perfino della paura cui rimane spesso legato da un vincolo quasi filiale.
-Oriana Fallaci
I do a lot of driving around Rome. It’s part of my job and as such, I fully expect my car to be destroyed during my tenure of living here. As a general rule, I wouldn’t say that I have ever truly enjoyed the act of driving—but I also wouldn’t say that I’ve ever been a nervous driver, either. There was only that one time in high school during Driver’s Ed where Mrs. McLaughlin made us drive over the Bourne Bridge for the first time. “You’re too far over into oncoming traffic!” she’d critique as she’d yank the steering wheel closer to the unforgiving barrier on the right-hand side. That day I was kinda me nervous.
But that was over a quarter of a century ago and since those early days I have driven in all kinds of places. It’s become something that’s a part of modern life—something that must be done. And so, here in Rome just as I have done elsewhere, I just get into the driver’s seat and do it.
As it happens on most days, this morning I was out on the city’s orbital road, il Grande Raccordo Anulare. I had almost completed my journey and absent-mindedly moved over to make my exit. I’ve discovered that the GRA takes longer than if I were to cut across the city—but I have also found that by taking the autostrada, I can pay less attention because motorists are slightly better at respecting the lanes markers.
My usual exit, although it was taking me away from the nerve center of Rome, was unusually backed up as I joined the queue. I didn’t think much of it. On the GRA it’s hard to ever gauge the severity of a backup so more often than not you slow down and wait to see what will happen. It’s not like in Dakar where, if you have a major traffic jam, walking vendors suddenly start to appear hawking everything from phone cards to Obama flashlights. When that starts to happen, you shift your focus to window shopping and understand that you’re in for a long sit.
But I was at the exit— maybe 15 minutes max from where I needed to be. No one was moving but Google and the quick-talking radio offered no hint of a motorway problem. Then an ambulance passed on the shoulder. Again, this doesn’t necessarily mean much in terms of traffic flow. Furthermore, I was just past the metal barrier and into the curve so I was prevented from cutting my losses and moving back to the highway. Like everyone else in the vicinity, I was at the mercy of the traffic gods.
About 15 minutes into our standstill, there was still no sign of police. I knew, however, that things were not going well when I saw two men appear at the top of the exit’s incline. Like me they were civilians—clearly not employed for a crash scene. One of them stopped, took in the sight of the motorists accumulating just below him and began to make the Italian hand gesture that loosely means, “it’s finished”. No one was going to get through.
I’m sure these guys were strangers, but by getting out of their cars, the two were somehow now understood to be in charge. In a matter of seconds, they coalesced into a traffic cop force, walking down the ramp and back towards the danger of the highway. I have no idea what they were driving, but their cars were clearly just before the incidente. With exaggerated motioning of their hands and heads, they now started to help cars reverse back onto the highway as safely as possible. With cars still darting by in the left-hand lane, they moved dozens of cars back while simultaneously answering the queries of baffled commuters. You know Italians love a discussion. I too vested my complete trust in them completed as I backed down the exit and was able to turn back to the highway. I never could thank them, but they saved me from untold minutes of morning traffic purgatory.
It’s a coincidence of nationality (or maybe it isn’t), but these guys made me think of a bus I took in Naples last year. It was a local route, and I was trying to get across town for a meeting. But between accidents, construction and strange acts of God, Naples traffic is somewhat legendary. Our bus was caught up thusly and suddenly we were bound for nowhere. Most of us opted to stare straight ahead at the backup, blinking like unimpressed cows who were watching a train pass by. But then a young Neapolitan girl hopped up. She had her phone showing Google Maps and clearly had better ideas for us. For the next 20 minutes, she proceeded to navigate the bus driver onto the world’s most fantastic detour until we got to where we needed to go.
I think about this girl and the guys from this morning and imagine how they most likely didn’t wake up and expect to assist an anonymous collection of humans in fairly dicey conditions. But there they were. And while they probably would never really know it, these people were heroes at least for an hour. Sure their actions were also self-serving, but at the same time, they didn’t have to do anything at all.
I recently watched a cartoon on TV that I‘d forgotten existed. I know that a 42-year-old discussing cartoons is ridiculous, but these days I’m happy to absorb anything in Italian. And I have the comprehension level of a four-year-old, so va giù bene. The cartoon I watched was from America. At first, I didn’t recognize it on the programming guide because in Italy, it’s called ‘Leone il cane fifone’—or, as it was described to me by an Italian, “a show about dog who is afraid of doing things but he does them anyway because his family is too stupid to know what’s going on.”
In America it’s known as “Courage the Cowardly Dog”.
In the simplest terms, it’s a show about a pet who is perpetually on edge but also consistently left to carry the water because no one else will. His owners are elderly and self-absorbed. Each episode’s plot is completely ridiculous, but at the end of the day, the dog is the only character who ever makes a difference.
I’m not trying to say that resolving a traffic mess, or even some fictional dog is something that should be viewed as extraordinary. Rather, I think each example helps to remind me that each day we all head out the door and embark on things that we might rather not do. There are varying degrees of discomfort—depending on the activity—but on the whole, at some point in time we all find ourselves running with a banner of leadership that we are not quite sure how we got stuck with. I’ll do this, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I am enjoying it. Or that I know what I’m doing.
Tomorrow’s another day. More opportunities for interaction, transport, entanglement—and also triumph. I feel that so long as I am trying, I can feel okay about taking on roles that might not feel within my job description.