I Drive 55 Unless Stated Otherwise

A few weeks ago, I began a simple practice: I would drive the posted speed limit.

Not approximately the speed limit. Not five miles over because “everyone does it.” Not whatever speed felt reasonable based on traffic.

The posted speed limit.

So, unless a sign says otherwise, I drive 55.

And I can say with complete honesty that when I am behind the wheel, the cruise control is set, and I do not go a single digit over the posted speed.

It sounds small. It may even sound a little ridiculous. But the first few weeks have been surprisingly humbling.

The World Looks Different at the Speed Limit

One of the first things I noticed was how much more aware I became of my surroundings.

When I am not constantly pushing forward, trying to gain a few seconds or stay ahead of the next car, I begin to notice where I actually am. I notice the road, the buildings, the fields, the intersections, and the people around me.

At the speed limit, time almost appears to slow down.

Of course, it is not actually moving slower. I am simply no longer trying to outrun it.

That has revealed something uncomfortable in me. Much of my driving was not about reaching a destination safely or efficiently. It was driven by an interior urgency—the feeling that I should be moving faster, getting ahead, or refusing to be delayed.

Now I am simply driving the speed that has been given to me.

And my body does not always know what to do with that.

Everyone Appears Angry

The car behind me appears angry.

Some drivers pass me quickly. Cars in the next lane fly by. When two lanes merge into one, I sometimes feel as though every set of eyes is fixed on me.

I am not driving unusually slowly. I am driving the speed limit.

But it can feel as though I am doing something wrong.

My mind begins writing stories.

The driver behind me is furious. The people passing me think I am an idiot. Everyone is wondering why I refuse to speed up. I am holding up traffic. I am making myself a problem.

None of that may be true.

The other drivers may not be thinking about me at all. They may simply pass and continue with their day. Yet my mind takes a small moment on the road and turns it into a courtroom.

I become the defendant, the prosecutor, the witnesses, and the judge.

That has been one of the most revealing parts of this practice: the road does not only show me how fast I want to drive. It shows me how quickly I create stories about other people.

A Push and Pull Inside the Body

There is a physical push and pull to it.

My body feels the desire to accelerate. My foot wants to press down. My mind tells me that going a little faster would make everything easier.

Then I bring myself back.

Sometimes I return my attention to God. Sometimes I focus on the audio playing in the car. Sometimes I consciously receive the moment with peace or even joy.

I remind myself that I am not trapped. I am not under attack. I am not losing anything important.

I am simply driving.

This has become a small exercise in directing the mind rather than allowing every thought or bodily impulse to take control.

• The urge comes.

• The story begins.

• The tension rises.

• Then, by grace, I can return.

Not always perfectly. Not always immediately. But I can return.

The Temptation to Judge

There is another temptation hidden inside this practice.

Once I began carefully observing the speed limit, I became more aware of how many other people do not.

That awareness can quickly become judgment.

I can begin to think that I am the responsible one while everyone else is reckless. I can turn a small act of personal discipline into a reason to feel morally superior.

That would defeat the entire purpose.

This practice is not meant to help me keep track of everyone else’s speed. It is meant to reveal what is happening inside me.

The person passing me may be late for work. They may be distracted. They may be dealing with an emergency. They may simply have a different habit than mine.

I do not know their heart, their circumstances, or their destination.

My responsibility is to drive my own car.

That sounds obvious, but spiritually it is enormous.

How often do I leave the work God has placed directly in front of me because I am busy analyzing someone else’s behavior?

How often do I take a discipline meant for my own conversion and use it as a measuring stick against my neighbor?

The speedometer keeps bringing me back to myself.

Obedience Without Drama

There is nothing dramatic about driving the speed limit.

No one applauds it. No one knows it is a personal discipline. Most people probably do not notice.

That may be why it is useful.

It is obedience without performance.

The sign says 55, so I drive 55.

I do not need to understand every reason for the limit. I do not need everyone around me to agree with it. I do not need the road to feel peaceful before I obey.

I simply respond to what has been placed before me.

That has begun to feel connected to many other areas of life.

I often want a grand plan, a perfect explanation, or a powerful spiritual feeling. But much of the Christian life is ordinary faithfulness: doing the next right thing without turning it into a spectacle.

Pray the prayer.

Complete the task.

Speak gently.

Keep the commitment.

Drive the speed limit.

I Am Not Losing Time

Perhaps the deepest lesson has been about time.

When I slow down to the posted limit, part of me feels as though I am losing something. I imagine that everyone else is getting ahead while I am falling behind.

But I am not losing time.

I am receiving the time I have been given.

I arrive when I arrive. I do not need to steal a few minutes from the road by becoming impatient, aggressive, or anxious.

The destination is still there.

The day is still there.

God is still there.

In fact, when I stop rushing, I become more capable of noticing His presence.

The practice has not made every drive peaceful. It has revealed how much unrest I was carrying into the car.

That is humbling, but it is also hopeful.

Because what can be seen can be surrendered.

A Small Road Toward Peace

For now, I continue setting the cruise control.

The road opens. Cars pass. My imagination starts telling stories. My body wants to speed up.

And I return.

I return to the posted sign.

I return to the present moment.

I return to the audio playing.

I return to gratitude.

I return to God.

The discipline is not really about 55 miles per hour.

It is about learning that I do not have to obey every impulse toward urgency. I do not have to interpret every person behind me as a threat. I do not have to judge every person who passes me.

I can remain where I have been placed.

I can move at the pace I have been given.

I can let others pass without chasing them.

And slowly, one ordinary drive at a time, I can learn that peace is not found by getting ahead of everyone else.

Sometimes peace begins by refusing to press the accelerator.