The joys of going nowhere

So that was Christmas. Now the big day is finally over, it’s time to turn our collective minds to another holiday tradition: the traffic jam. This summer millions of Kiwis will find themselves becalmed on state highways, sweltering in still cars for hours at a time, despairing they’ll ever move again.

But traffic jams aren’t all bad, because sometimes the best thing we can do is come to a stop.

Just like processing grief, there are five steps of coming to terms with a gridlock.

First comes denial: this can’t be happening. You checked the traffic website and planned your trip accordingly. This road is never busy like this. It’s OK, we’ll all start moving soon.

Next is anger: New Zealand roads suck. This would never happen in Asia or Europe or every other country because those people know how to build roads. You’re going to move overseas as soon as you get out of this traffic. You could build a better road than this. Why would anyone put a roundabout there anyway? You hate New Zealand.

Then comes bargaining: you will never ask god for anything else ever again if only the traffic starts moving. You’ll let that car go in front of you because you’re a good personwho doesn’t deserve this.

Depression follows: this is exactly what you deserve because you are not a good person.

Finally, there’s acceptance: the traffic will never move again, and that’s OK. You never really wanted to go anywhere anyway, so this is perfectly fine. You live here now.

Irecentlyworked through my own five steps after coming to a standstill on the Akatarawa Rd, a gnarly little passage between the Hutt Valley and Ka¯piti Coast. With the roads out of Wellington at a standstill, and police warning motorists to delay their travel, I knew just the goat track to avoid the carnage. Apparently so did everyone else.

It was about halfway along the winding road that things came to a halt. Like many traffic jams, there appeared to be no reason for the stall, we’d just stopped dead.

As one motorist inexplicably donned a hi-vis vest and wandered back and forth telling stuck drivers they were indeed stuck, people left their cars and began amassing.

At first, it was awkward, and then it was nice. Sarah from Canterbury passed around a box of biscuits, aman in a ute offered cigarettes, and a teenager on amotorbike handed out some lollies. Dogs released from cars bounced around, and a group of women took turns covering each other for a toilet break.

We all snickered about the man in the hi-vis vest who was now a kilometre down the road still telling stuck people they were stuck.

As the hours ticked by, about 30 of us settled on to a grassy patch and got to know each other; talked about wherewewere meant to be going right now.

Someone had missed a plane, someone else was going to see a brand-new grandchild for the first time, another was heading for a job interview. A bloke played the guitar.

We listened to a gentleman talk about his late wife and how much she would have enjoyed this; she always loved meeting strangers. Two young people swapped phone numbers and planned to meet for a drink if we ever got off the hill.

I told my new community Iwas awriter and Sarah passed me a bit of advice along with the box of biscuits. ‘‘You should write about how coming to a stop can be a good thing now and then.’’