Herald Opinion: No time in my day for being stuck at a red light

It was my birthday last week, and like everyone else on the planet, I’m getting older. Once upon a time, I remember wishing I could just stay the age I was. These days, the birthdays tumble into each other—and you know what? I don’t mind at all.

I’m at a stage in life where I’m simply thankful to be still going strong. It’s great to wake up in the morning, get on with the day’s work, help out in the community, or take part in whatever voluntary task comes my way.

Too many people in the local cemeteries were my age—or younger—when they took up permanent residence in their plots. That alone is reason enough to appreciate every passing year.

With those years, though, comes a shift. I’ve found that things worry me far less than they used to. I’m more measured in what I say. I take bad manners and intolerance in my stride—not as personal attacks, but as things people haven’t yet grown out of. Hopefully, they will. Eventually.

We’ve all heard that we have two ears and one mouth for a reason. We might act foolish now and then, but we don’t need to announce it. A closed mouth often says more than one that’s constantly in gear. I try to listen more these days—sometimes, I even succeed.

Tolerance, I think, is something I’ve gained with age. I’m definitely more understanding than the 25-year-old version of me. I don’t get as wound up when things don’t go my way—well, most of the time.

That said, the calmness tends to vanish when I get behind the wheel.

Now, I’m not the worst on the road. I let people out in traffic, sometimes. I pull in when the roads are tight. I might push on a little here and there, but generally, I’m courteous. Still, I’ll admit, traffic lights test my patience.

I managed for years in Roscommon without having to deal with many of them—just the odd pedestrian crossing in Castlerea. Then, suddenly, they began appearing like leylandii hedges everywhere, even here in Loughglynn.

These days, I meet them every morning in Frenchpark. And lately, on the way to Elphin, I’ve been hitting three or four sets of temporary lights between Ballinagare and Elphin. Sometimes, I’m sitting there for two or even three minutes. That’s 180 seconds of staring into space, wondering if the workmen have gone off for tea.

But as irritating as that is, the railway crossing in Castlerea is a different beast altogether.

It drives me mad. I’ll be heading for Roscommon, or coming back from it, and just as I approach the crossing—on come those dirty red lights. Right then, I know I’ve added five extra minutes to the trip. Not a disaster, but on certain days, it’s enough to raise the blood pressure.

And I find myself wondering more and more: could it not be done better?

Here’s the thing. The train comes in from Dublin, and the gates close long before it even reaches the station. The train eventually pulls in—but it hasn’t crossed the road. Still, traffic is stopped. People get off, others get on, bags are shuffled, maybe a phone call is made. The train sits there for a good while. Then finally it revs up, blows the horn, chugs along and crosses the road.

Wouldn’t it make more sense to drop the barrier when the train’s actually ready to move? Is this cranky old age talking? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just the voice of someone who’s been around long enough to question inefficiency when they see it—especially while stuck at a red light, burning daylight.

Time, I always say, is plentiful. The man who made time made lots of it. And we should enjoy it while we have it. I do, in fairness. I try to pack in as much as I can. But like everyone else, I’m still ruled by the clock.

Take this piece, for example. I need to find a couple of quiet hours each week to write it. Yes, really these things don’t just materialise. This weekend, it was tricky. I carved out the time, but then I didn’t have a birthday pint on Saturday. Tragic, I know.

Still, it’s a small price to pay to share a few thoughts with you. And if you’re stuck at a red light—or behind a barrier in Castlerea—while reading this, take heart. At least you’re not the only one watching the minutes tick by.