My wife and I moved to Dallas from Los Angeles. Among the many stark contrasts, we were most struck by the difference in driving habits. In Los Angeles, driving is a cultural phenomenon. In Dallas, driving feels competitive. When meeting friends and colleagues in L.A., you talk about freeways. In Dallas, you talk about sports.
When I lead workshops that cover topics like the Ladder of Inference or confirmation bias, I often use driving behavior to illustrate how our beliefs shape what we notice. I’ll claim that Dallas drivers don’t use their turn signals. And because of that belief, I see endless “evidence” that I’m right: cars weaving across lanes without signaling. My daughters, aware of my bias, like to call out counterexamples: “Look, Dad, that green car just signaled.” They see what I filter out. I’ll even reinterpret their evidence to fit my belief: “That driver must not be from Dallas.”
Our brains love shortcuts. We cling to assumptions because they feel efficient. But those shortcuts can blind us to signals and to each other.
Turn signals are a form of communication. A signal might be a polite, “May I move over?” or a warning, “Heads up!” Most often, it’s simply, “Here’s what I’m about to do.” At its core, signaling is an acknowledgment that other people’s needs matter.
At its core, signaling is an acknowledgment that other people’s needs matter.
Cars obscure the body language we rely on to interpret intentions. And life is full of invisible “vehicles”—schedules, inboxes, calendars—that make it hard for others to see where we’re headed. Without signals, people are left guessing.
We travel through the world in these bodies, much like cars: enclosed, private, and easy to forget there’s someone else behind every windshield. We work across distances and time zones. We make plans, change plans, and often assume others will just “figure it out.” When we fail to signal, it’s not always selfishness, it’s often habit, distraction, or the illusion that others can see what we see.
Compassion starts with simply acknowledging that other people exist and have needs too. Compassion isn’t just empathy; it’s action. To communicate compassionately is to anticipate others’ need for clarity before they’re left reacting to unexpected changes.
Travel compassionately by signaling your intentions:
- A quick update. Send the “I might be late” text before someone starts worrying.
- A small heads-up. Share a draft early so your colleague doesn’t feel ambushed later.
- A sign of respect. Tell a teammate when you’ve changed course instead of assuming they’ll notice.
- A kindness. Ask, “Is this still a good time?” before diving into a heavy topic.
Signals don’t need to be elaborate. A quick message, a note in a shared calendar, a sentence of context—these are all turn signals for life.
Signaling helps you, too. When we pause to share our intentions, we slow down, reflect, and notice others. We interrupt autopilot. We shift from competition to cooperation. We strengthen our attention agility, the ability to quickly and easily shift one’s focus in response to dynamic conditions.
The habit of signaling reminds us we’re not driving alone. We’re part of a complex flow of people, each carrying their own invisible cargo of worries, hopes, and deadlines.
So, when you feel rushed, overwhelmed, or ready to change lanes in life, ask yourself: Who needs to know what I’m about to do? Then, use your indicator.









