Tommy Druen
A few years ago, I came across a historical photograph that caught my attention. It showed a massive traffic jam in Sweden in 1967. Traffic jams, of course, are nothing remarkable. We’ve all endured them—whether during rush hour in a city or stuck behind a slow-moving tractor on a one-lane country road. But this one was different. The photograph captured a moment of complete and utter chaos, with no obvious cause.
Having read the caption of the photo, I knew the basic reason for the congestion, but I hadn’t given it much thought until Dr. Patrick DeVane, my pastor, referenced it in a recent sermon. He told the story of Sept. 3, 1967—the day Sweden experienced “Högertrafikomläggningen,” better known to us non-Swedish speakers as the day the country switched from driving on the left-hand side of the road to the right.
This was not a decision the Swedes made lightly. The issue was hotly debated for eight years before a final determination was reached. The reason was that all their neighboring countries drove on the right and the vast majority of the vehicles owned by Swedes were designed to be driven on the right. The decision was made with the intent to reduce accidents. Even then though, the change was not immediate. The switch was scheduled to occur four years later, allowing ample time for a comprehensive public information campaign.
And what a campaign it was. There were the expected television and radio advertisements, along with signs and billboards. But the Swedes went further. The logo promoting the switch appeared on gloves, milk cartons, and even commemorative underwear. Perhaps the most inspired move of all was a songwriting contest hosted by Swedish television, inviting musicians to write a song about the change. The winning entry was “Keep to the Right, Svensson,” written by Peter Himmelstrand and performed by The Telstar. And, if you are curious, it is available on YouTube.
After four years of unrelenting messaging, you might assume the transition would be seamless. And, relatively speaking, it was. On the day of the switch, there were fewer traffic accidents than on an average day. The following day, there were even fewer. Clearly, the campaign had worked—or so it seemed.
Over the next six weeks, accident rates slowly crept back up. Within a year, they had returned to pre-switch levels. Well-intended as it was, the goal was not achieved.
The lesson, to me, is that change is difficult. And there may be no better time of year to illustrate that truth than January. Many of us make New Year’s resolutions—well-intended promises to ourselves. Yet by the time this column appears, a good number of them will already be broken.
According to Drive Research, 80% of Americans who make resolutions believe they’ll stick with them throughout the year. Only 9% actually do. And 23% fail before the end of the first week.
Did some of those people know they would fail? Probably. But I suspect most did not. They had good intentions. They had desire. Like the Swedes, they started strong. But life intervenes. One distracted moment and muscle memory takes over—you drift into the familiar left-hand lane, or into the McDonald’s drive-thru. It happens.
I’ve made plenty of resolutions over the years. A few I’ve kept, but most I haven’t. Even when I’ve succeeded, I’ve often found myself sliding back to old habits. One year, I resolved to lose 15 pounds. I did—fairly quickly, in fact. Goal achieved. And not long after, I was right back where I started. It felt less like learning a lesson and more like cramming for a test.
The novelist Henry Miller once wrote, “One’s destination is never a place, but rather a new way of looking at things.”
With that in mind, I no longer make resolutions with rigid finish lines. Instead of losing 15 pounds, I aim to eat healthier. Instead of reading 50 books, I want to read more. I’m less interested in temporary achievements and more interested in living better.
As the Swedes taught us, lasting change is hard. There will be setbacks along the way. But if we focus less on a defined destination and more on reshaping our habits, change may finally stick—and chaos may give way to something that feels a little more natural.
Tommy Druen is a syndicated columnist who resides in Georgetown. He can be reached at tommydruen@gmail.com.