One night, just after the rain, I was sitting at a U-turn as a cluster of headlights came rushing toward me. I stayed still, waiting for the stream to pass. One car remained, its beams glaring straight into me, and I refused to move until it was gone. Behind me, a police SUV blared its horn, demanding I drive forward. But the road was slick, the night was dark, and I trusted my judgment over his impatience. So I held my ground for five full seconds, unmoved. I drove when I was ready — not because authority told me to, but because presence chose the moment.