Range

Waze tells me how to get home. I know several routes, but I let the machine pick the best one. It’s a 30 to 35-mile drive, depending on the path.

The car warned me—24 miles of fuel left. I’m not great at mental math, but I was pretty confident I wouldn’t make it home. It was blazing hot. I didn’t want to stop. But I had already put it off last time, for the last time.

I changed my destination to a preferred and convenient place to get fuel. It was just over eighteen miles away. With twenty-four miles in the tank, it wasn’t much of a buffer, but I had some cushion. I rolled the dice.

I introduced a new anxiety to that drive as I kept a close eye on the fuel range. Everything was fine. Until it wasn’t. We slowed. Then we stopped. Not “Texas stop.” Full stop. I kept comparing my destination miles to my fuel miles. I was ok, but only the range was moving. We finally started moving again. I had lost one mile of buffer, but I was still ok. I was certain I was ok. Everything was fine.

I knew a gas station was ahead on the right. I hated that one. It was close, but blech. So, I weighed my options. I compared my miles; I was super confident I would make it to “the good one.” I moved past the ability to exit. That’s precisely when we slowed down again. My fuel range dropped quicker than my distance. Two miles of buffer gone, but we were moving again. It was fine. So fine. Just fine.

Then we stopped again. The fuel range and my optimism dropped. We pulled forward one or two feet at a time. I become emotionally aware of the phrase gas guzzling. The buffer was all but gone. I could make it, but I’d be rolling into the gas station. Maybe pushing the last few feet. I shut the AC off to conserve. I felt like a pioneer braving the elements, resolved to make my final destination.

The scales tipped, and I had to change my plans. I needed to get gas at the next available station. My range was down to twelve miles. My preferred station was still fifteen minutes away, and the next gas station was only ten minutes away. I no longer cared about my fueling experience; I wanted any fuel. We crawled, but my range was ticking at the same rate as my remaining distance. Phew.

We stopped again. My range dropped by twos. The cars didn’t budge. Five miles to go. Two miles of range. Then one. Zero. Still sitting still. Was it better to shut off the car? Should I keep it running as long as possible? I started looking for the roadside assistance number.

My car idled. The zero stared at me. We became one. One big zero. We were moving again. I wanted to get to the shoulder. The exit approached, and I took it. I might actually make it to the gas station. There were three more red lights in the last mile. I kept hoping zero meant something different in German.

I was so incredibly lucky and made it to the rundown, overpriced, out-of-the-way gas station. I wanted to be mad at the traffic or the inconsistent fuel range movement. But that anger would only be a shadow from the frustration of not filling up when I could.

I avoided filling up when it was a minor inconvenience, and waited until it almost became a major one. When I delay the important things, I lose the ability to be selective. My standards drop. My options vanish. And I burn through the margin that gives me control.

What am I putting off that’s easy now but hard later? What am I avoiding today that will make tomorrow easier? Am I building buffers or burning them?

Be curious, be kind, be whole, do good things.