“Rich, slow down, I do not want to die in this car, my life ending up being a statistic.” I was 26 years old and had already put my life on cruise control. From my perspective there was nothing in my way but an open road. The world had already become my oyster. I was driving a red 1986 300ZX with an entire summer of shenanigans in front of me. I turned to my travel companion with a smug grin. ‘There ain’t nothing going to slow us down today,’ tapping on the shiny new toy strapped to my dashboard. My mother, in one of her ill-advised attempts to help her younger son get around life’s restrictions, had gifted me a “fuzz buster” so I could avoid adding to my growing pile of speeding tickets. My radar detector indicated I had clearance for another 30 miles as I pushed our speed to over 100 mph. When I heard the words “slow down” I immediately pressed my foot harder into the accelerator speeding to 120 mph. Simultaneously, what looked to be an army of flashing lights and sirens were gaining on me. In a matter of seconds two New York State Trooper cars had me boxed in like a sardine and appeared to be calling for backup. “Hey Jim, get a look at this beauty. This guy has one of them fancy radar detectors to go along with his fancy ride.” His partner took the bait. “Wow, I’ve never seen one so elaborate. That had to cost “pretty boy” an arm and a leg.” For 15 minutes I sat there and was served up a record helping of humble pie. The story would provide for many laughs over the years but in the moment, there were numerous ominous warning signs regarding my future that I wasn’t ready to accept.
The situation I found myself in was making the career highlight films of these two road-tested authorities. They handed me a ticket for 100 mph (that insured the maximum fine) in a 65-mph speed area. Much rougher than the 300 hundred dollars I eventually paid was listening to the two troopers roast me. “Did you ever see a bigger compensation problem than this guy Jim? A big shot, trying to go the speed of light.” The other officer was shaking his head sizing up my passenger side. “Yeah Jim, I’ve seen tons of them, cocky kids who believe they are non-perishables. Most of them end up dead before they make it to 30.” They were talking directly to each other, but I was more than aware who their soliloquy was directed at. After the officers had distributed my litany of moving violations, I was left alone to hear a second lecture form the person riding shotgun. “I don’t know about you, but I have big plans for my life, and they do not include getting banged up in a car.” At this point my patience was running thin. “What do you want?” I asked the young lady I would marry three years later, ‘a dude driving steady in the right lane, minding all the rules, hanging on for dear life.’ I crumbled up my parting gifts and tossed them in the backseat. In the four years since graduating from college I move immediately into the far-left lane and pressed my foot to the metal.. In my mid 20s I was a full-time high school history teacher and a varsity basketball coach. I had money in my pocket, a dynamic sports car, and a nice-looking partner in the front seat. I felt like I had enough street credibility to drive as fast as I liked. At the time, the incident was nothing more than a funny joke. I was nowhere near perceptive enough to grasp the metaphorical warning that my life’s biggest crash was lying in wait for me.
In those days I was in a big hurry regardless of if I had anywhere to go, or not. I was racing as fast I could to whatever big event was next. Not once did I take a second to get a grip on myself. I was suffering from a bad case of “what’s next syndrome” that is typical amongst young people who are both ambitious and extremely impatient. My traveling companion who made it quite clear that it was my car she was enamored with, not me. “Rich, you think you are such a clever one, but you do not understand that there will be consequences down the road as a result of your sloppiness.” I don’t really remember what I said back to her, but I do recall my attitude back then was diluted ‘I was born with a leprechaun on my shoulder, everything will always work out fine me.’ Yes, I was that shallow, entitled, and immature. ‘I’ll be just fine, I may not be untouchable, but I am close,’ was the mantra I consistently used back then to get me through whatever crisis was simmering. The conversation was not going to die easy. “On the outside it looks like you got it all together, but we both know better,” she said with disdain. “You’re working on being a narcissist, you always think you’re the smartest person in the room, and you are very insecure. The worse part is you recognize this and are doing nothing about it.” She was right, but at that stage in my life I could have cared less.
Through the years the incident was good for many belly laughs at mine and my mother’s expense. Only after all the distance and time that was put between that day back and 1986 and today, can I see how loudly life’s warning signs were screaming at me to slow down. The whistles were blowing, the sirens were roaring. I was living large without the experience or wisdom to back it up. When you are moving that fast you don’t see much, there is only a far-off mystical destination in sight. I had decided to skip all the apprenticeships, claiming top dog status before producing top dog results. I told anyone who would listen that I was on my way to reinventing the art of teaching and coaching. I was a classic case of a cocky young man who was so egocentric that he committed the mortal sin of not seeking the help of those who went before. There is no doubt that the speeding ticket I received that day back in 1986 was a loud warning alerting me that the road ahead was filled with huge potholes. At the time I was a teacher, a coach, and all around entitled, selfish guy. My eyes were wide shut, I couldn’t see myself past tomorrow. From my view whatever loose plan I had concocted in my head was working. All I had to do was keep showing up and the money, fame, and status were in my future. I believed I possessed a guardian angel who made sure all was right in the world of “Rich Siegel”. In the following three years, without request, I was presented with the hard lessons I had always been convinced I would find my way around. I learned there are no guardian angels; only yourself. You choose the direction, the goals, the speed. Success and failure are soley in the eyes of the beholder. I learned we are the ones responsible of our paths. And I learned I wasn’t as good a driver as I thought.
Standing in that moment at 26, in the summer of 86, everything looked idyllic. I didn’t want to listen to the voices telling me to slow down, I was sprinting towards a place having no idea where that place was. I was not yet familiar with the teachings of Lao Tzu and his philosophical wisdom “the journey of 1,000 miles must begin with a single step.” At the time I could not comprehend how long that 1,000-mile trek can be, uphill in the dark, both ways. In my eyes anyone who was telling me to slow down was a conspiracist theorist who was jealous of my propensity for acting the part of the ‘Big Shot’. In my warped mind I had figured this life out at a very early age, I thought I was immune to the hard lessons that are necessary along the way. Those painful lessons that you will lean on in the future. I honestly thought God’s angels had tapped me on the shoulder, “don’t worry Rich, we’ll keep you under a close watch.” Yes, I was that delusional. There are consequences in this life for our flaws that we aren’t able to get under control. I woke up on my 30th birthday an “Insurance Man”, married, with merely a couple hundred dollars in the bank. Robin Leach was not getting ready to invite me onto ‘The Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous’. That 26-year-old hot shot cruising in his red 300zx was going to be forced to swallow a lot of bitter pills in the years ahead. They are what I call today “Now or Never Pills”. At the age of 30 I had to pay off all the fines of my past and start my sentence as an adult.
“They’re they go,” the officer not named Jim said to no one in particular. “yup, there they go”, repeated trooper Jim. Like the arrogant dummy I was in those days I fell for the trap. ‘Who?’ I blurted out. My two captors began laughing, (unprofessionally I might add,) “Who?” he wonders, trooper Jim said staring directly into my eyes. “There they go, all of them people you were passing.” He reached his hand inside my car to hand me my citations before giving my “fuzz buster” a few final loves taps. “Yup that’s a real nice machine you got right there. The troopers headed back to their ride. “Where do you think that kid will be ten years?” I imagined hearing one of them asking the other. “Dead, in jail, or he’ll be ruling the world.” Although they were right about my life being a rough ride, none of those three things came to attrition. Today, I barely recognize that shiny boy who was so far away from who he would become.
One of my favorite fables is ‘The Tortoise and Hare.’ If ever there was a young man in his 20’s who resembled a high energy rabbit it was me. I was running at full speed and anyone who stood in my way was going to get run over. On that day back in 1986 I was still three years from any type of starting line of an adult existence. It took me three years to understand that I was running myself out of the race in the first mile. All those people driving the speed limit got to their destination’s way before me on that day. I’d love to bump into those two troopers who went over the top in belittling me. “Hey guys, I want you to meet my wife, she was the girl in the car with me that day.” I want to tell them, not right away but I did slow down; I wanted to tell them they were wrong about me. For the moment, I am securely planted in the right lane of life and for now I’m appreciating the smooth ride.
