A couple of months ago I wrote about the pothole in lane three.
The one I hit every single day on my drive to work. The one I knew was coming—and still, thud. No matter how carefully I tried to maneuver around it, I’d feel that jolt. Every time. Until it became more than just a pothole. It became a metaphor: for routines, for stuck-ness, for the ways we get comfortable in discomfort.
But something strange happened recently.
I’ve started driving in other lanes. Not just thinking about change. Actually making it. Trying the slow lane some mornings. The fast lane on others. I’ve even found myself in that awkward, second-slowest lane. The one that feels like the middle child of the freeway.
And one morning last week, as I merged back toward lane three just out of habit, I noticed something.
The pothole… was gone.
Just like that. Vanished. No warning. No orange cones. No road crew. No sign saying “we fixed it.” It was simply not there anymore.
Now, here’s the thing: I didn’t fix it. I didn’t even report it. And yet, something that had been rattling me day after day mentally, emotionally, even spiritually, was suddenly no longer in the way.
And I don’t think that’s a coincidence.
I think it’s a reflection of what happens when we start to move outside the lanes we’ve trapped ourselves in. When we take even small steps beyond the boundaries of what’s familiar. The obstacles that once felt permanent? They shrink. They soften. Or they vanish altogether.
Because maybe those potholes were never the problem to begin with. Maybe it was always about the lane we were choosing to stay in.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve started exploring some creative “lane changes” too. I’ve been experimenting with using tools like AI to help me visualize some of the children’s book ideas I’ve had swirling in my head. For the longest time, “I don’t have an illustrator yet” felt like a roadblock. A reason not to move forward.
But what I’m realizing is, the moment I stop seeing the pothole as permanent and start looking for another way forward new paths appear. I don’t have to wait for perfect. I just have to be willing to try.
Using technology to brainstorm illustration concepts isn’t just helping me sketch ideas, it's helping me remember why I wanted to tell these stories in the first place. It’s not about skipping steps or finding shortcuts. It’s about momentum. It’s about movement. It’s about reminding myself that I can change lanes, creatively and personally.
The pothole in lane three was real. But so was my choice to keep hitting it.
And now? Now I’m learning to see the whole freeway.
So maybe this is your reminder, too: If you’re stuck in the same routine, hitting the same bumps, ask yourself—
What happens if you try a different lane?
Because sometimes, the simple act of moving, even slightly, can change everything. Not just how the road feels beneath you, but how you feel behind the wheel.
Love,
Zak