You know it’s going to be a day when your car starts talking to you before the sun even comes up.
A few weekends ago, I was on my way to help with a plethera of graduation ceremonies we were hosting at the university where I work. I had my badge, my sensible shoes, and the kind of energy that says, “Let’s do this,” with a smile and a sip of Red Bull.
A few miles into my quiet morning commute, my car started making a suspicious clunk, clunk, clunk sound. Then the dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree with a “Check Tire Pressure” warning—which is car-speak for your day’s about to get interesting.
I figured it was just a little low and I’d air it up at work at the tire inflation station outside the Campus Police Department. But to get to work, I had to choose between the highway (faster, riskier) or the back roads (slower, safer, prettier). Naturally, I chose the riskier route because it was faster, and because I still believed maybe this wasn’t a big deal.
Spoiler: The car did not agree with my optimism.
The noise got worse. Like, full-on percussion section in the wheel well worse. I pulled over and took a peek.
The tire wasn’t fully flat yet, but it was well on its way. I could maybe make it home. Two to three miles, tops. So I turned around, crawling along at 10 mph with my hazards on, praying no one behind me was late for anything important.
By the time I got to my neighborhood, I was basically driving on the rim. The tire was Swiss cheese, leaving black streaks and little rubber crumbles in its wake.
Cue the pit crew (aka, my amazing husband), who met me in the driveway and jumped into action. I swapped vehicles, left him with the vented tire, gave a quick thank you hug and kiss, and was back on the road with time to spare.
Here’s what stuck with me though:
Sometimes we treat life like we can just change the tires while the car is still moving.
We know something’s off. We hear the noise, feel the wobble, get the dashboard warnings. But we keep barreling forward, thinking we’ll patch things up once we get through the next big thing: graduation, the school year, the quarter, the deadline, the family drama. Then we’ll stop and breathe.
But you can’t change the tires on a moving car.
Eventually, something forces you to pull over. And if you don’t do it willingly, life will do it for you. It might show up through a blown tire, a stress breakdown, or some other unraveling you didn’t see coming… even though, deep down, you kind of did.
We tell ourselves we’ll fix it later. We don’t want to take the slower route. We don’t want to pull over. We’re afraid of what we’ll lose if we do.
But I’m learning:
- Stopping isn’t failure.
- Asking for help isn’t weakness.
- Going slower—even taking the long, inconvenient route—doesn’t mean you’re falling behind.
It means you’re choosing safety over speed.
Sustainability over burnout.
Wisdom over white-knuckling your way through.
You’re allowed to pause. You’re allowed to say, “This isn’t working, and I need a new tire,” metaphorical or otherwise.
Sometimes, you need to turn around. Sometimes you have to crawl home at 10 mph at 6:45 AM and let the tire fall apart so you can actually get where you’re supposed to be—even if it’s a few minutes late.
If your life’s been clunking lately, maybe it’s time to stop trying to fix everything in motion. Pull over. Breathe. Let someone hand you a new wheel and remind you that you’re not alone on the road. Because the truth is, none of us are driving perfectly. Some of us are just better at turning up the music to drown out the noise.
And maybe the real lesson is that you don’t have to keep driving on something broken just to look like you have it all together.
Rachel L. Richard is a small-town farm girl turned suburbanite, a delightfully irreverent optimist, Mrs & Mama, floppy dog ear scratcher, lifelong learner, channel surfer, wanderer, believer, occasional creative, out-of-practice musician, cupcake addict, book devourer, and lover of all people.
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