Peace, Serenity... and the World's Longest Car Horn
Today I was reminded that peace and serenity aren't destinations—they're things I have to keep practicing every single day.
I've shared this story before, but it still makes me laugh... and cringe.
On my way home from my initial retina detachment consultation in Hanahan, South Carolina, traffic came to a complete crawl. Bumper-to-bumper. I was actually doing fine with it. Traffic happens.
Then someone decided the shoulder was their own personal VIP lane.
They flew past everyone who had been patiently waiting and squeezed right in front of me.
At that exact moment, my serenity clocked out for the day.
I didn't give a polite courtesy honk.
I didn't tap the horn to let them know I was there.
I introduced them to the entire catalog of my car horn.
And I kept introducing it.
For so long... that I literally wore out my car horn.
Yes... I broke my horn.
I actually heard it take its last breath.
I'm pretty sure if my BMW could talk, it would've said, "Niel... buddy... enough already."
I estimate I was honking continuously for at least 15 minutes.
The person who cut me off probably forgot about me after 30 seconds.
Meanwhile, I was apparently auditioning to be the Low Country Symphony's first horn section.
Looking back, it's hilarious.
It's also a little wild.
For me, that's what alcoholism can look like today. It isn't that I'll pick up a drink—that was never my first thought, and recreational drugs weren't my thing either. Instead, it can show up as anger, self-righteousness, and reacting in ways that make absolutely no sense.
I've never repaired the horn.
Not because I don't have the time.
Not because I don't have the money.
I haven't fixed it because, in my mind, I haven't yet truly learned how to share the road with other people. Until I make more progress on that, the broken horn serves as a daily reminder that I still have work to do.
Recovery isn't about becoming perfect.
It's about recognizing when I'm the problem, owning it, laughing at myself when appropriate, and trying to do a little better tomorrow than I did today.
Recently, an awesome friend from one of my recovery meetings thought of me. She knows this story. She knows I still wrestle with the rage that can pop up out of nowhere—and she knows I've been driving around with a silent horn ever since.
She surprised me with the perfect gift.
I laughed immediately.
Now I need to mount it on my dashboard.
If you want to see what she gave me—and hear some of the hilarious things it says—head over to:
Oh... and before anyone points it out, ignore the lack of manicure in the video. Dialysis, life, and recovery have been keeping me just a little busy.
Who knew one broken horn would become one of my biggest recovery reminders?
Life has a funny way of teaching us lessons.
Sometimes those lessons arrive with a whisper.
Sometimes they arrive with 15 minutes of uninterrupted honking.
Thanks for reading, and if this story made you smile—or reminded you of one of your own moments of insanity—leave a comment. I'd love to hear it.
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