From the Brickyard | Subject: It’s hell on wheels, dude
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It’s 4:43 p.m.
You’re sweating through your shirt.
Boxed in by huge SUVs, crawling along at 7 mph, surrounded by vape clouds, fast food fumes, and the faint sound of bass thumping from someone’s busted subwoofer.
Your right calf is twitching from riding the brake pedal.
And you’re starting to question every decision you’ve made since 11th grade.
This isn’t commuting.
This is confinement.
Let’s call it what it is:
Traffic is psychological warfare.
Okay, maybe a little dramatic, but you get the point. 🤣
The Circus of Stupidity
Traffic reveals the worst in people.
You’ve got the guy who waits until the last nanosecond to merge and expects applause.
The woman doing a full eyeshadow tutorial in the mirror while weaving like a bowling pin.
The old junk box with 14 bumper stickers and no turn signal.
And let’s not forget that one person—there’s always one person—laying on the horn like he’s summoning the ancient gods of speed.
These aren’t commuters.
These are mobile maniacs in air-conditioned cages.
We Weren’t Built for This
You think our ancestors sat in metal boxes breathing exhaust while the driver in front of them made a left turn at the speed of erosion?
No.
They walked.
They carried logs.
They wrestled animals, chopped wood, and got places without asking permission from a traffic app.
You were forged to move—to hunt, lift, build, sweat.
Now you’re stuck watching your life tick by in a rearview mirror while your spine fuses into a question mark.
The Toll
Let’s break it down like a bad transmission:
- Posture: Crushed. You look like a shrimp that gave up.
- Cortisol: Through the roof. Congratulations, you’re now chemically stressed because the driver ahead of you couldn’t decide which lane to pick.
- Testosterone: Dropping faster than the speed limit in a school zone.
- Mind: Numb. Zombified. Trapped in a daily episode of “Why Do I Do This to Myself?”
Traffic doesn’t just waste time.
It erodes you—body and soul.
The Rage List
Let’s lighten it up. Here are just a few people I’d love to see permanently banned from the roads:
- The Honk-Immediately-As-Light-Turns-Green Person
- The 46-in-a-65 Dignified Sloth
- The No-Turn-Signal Philosopher
- “This Lane Ends? Never Heard of It” Bro
- The Full Makeup Routine Artist (eyes on the road, Picasso)
We’re all just gladiators in this coliseum of chaos, except no one’s winning and the lions are hybrid drivers on their phones.
So What the Hell Do We Do?
We rebel. That’s what.
First things first, try to stay off the roads during peak times.
That may not be possible for most. Even then, traffic will seemingly always pop up somewhere.
You could also try to walk or bike more to your destinations.
Again, maybe not possible.
So here are some productive things you can do in your car when you’re stuck:
- Make traffic your gym: Do muscle activation (go through and flex each muscle, one at a time), trap stretches, neck rolls, and breath work.
- Fuel your mind: No more Top 40 garbage. Fire up podcasts, audiobooks, or primal silence.
- Have deep conversations with your passengers: Whether that be your kids, a friend, or your dog, build bonds right there in the car.
Final Word
Traffic isn’t just annoying.
It’s a symbol—of comfort over challenge, of sedation over motion, of a world that wants you soft, slow, and sedated.
You weren’t made to idle.
You were made to move.
To build muscle, not migraines.
To charge forward, not sit stuck behind someone with weird bumper stickers.
So next time you’re bumper-to-bumper, remember this:
You’re a Musclebuilder. You don’t sit still. You don’t surrender.
You endure. And build from it.
Brick by brick.
-Brickwall