"Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle."

I try to make this quotation my mantra. When someone cuts me off in traffic, I think, "Sucks to be you," or "Who pissed in his Post Toasties?", or something equally compassionate. It's a less poetic version of the above, I like to think. While I'm not exactly feeling sorry for the guy (because it's always a guy who cuts you off in traffic), I realize it's not my fault, that something far removed from me or my driving is making the driver act like an ass. I mean, injured soul.

OK, so maybe it's nothing like the above. And for damn sure I don't always adhere to this ideal, near saintly way of life. I confess, I have flipped people off.

The other day, a man behind me honked when I didn't move forward on the green light quickly enough. Probably, I should have ignored him. Instead, I waved merrily to him in my rear-view mirror. And when he came up beside me in the double through lanes at the next light, I turned sideways, waved just as wildly and grinned from ear to ear. Spittle was hitting the inside of his front passenger window as he let loose a string of what were most likely NC-17-variety words. His face was crimson with anger.

Was I being kind? Did I help to defuse the situation? No. This man was furious, for reasons I do not know, except that I was only his fleeting target, not the reason. Anger, I believe, is nothing more than hurt magnified. Something was eating him up inside. I should have ignored his horn honk and moved on instead of aggravating him further.

But wouldn't that be easier to do if we knew the pain each of us carries? How much kinder would we be if, instead of wondering why a co-worker lashes out at us with no apparent provocation, the reason was obvious. Written on him for everyone but them to see. "Verbally abused by father, uncertain he can ever measure up."

Mine, for instance, would say "Bipolar," "Single mom," "History of heartbreak (arguably self inflicted), distrust of men beyond friendship." And on some days, only: "PMSing."

My older sister's might read: "Epileptic," "Never married, no kids, has endured long periods of intense loneliness," "Aching for a reason to get up in the morning."

My sister's countenance is often blank and hard to read. At first glance, she may appear bored with you, dis-interested and daydreaming. But how much differently would you treat her if you only knew? How much differently would even I treat her if these labels flashed in my mind every time I spoke to her? For my sister and I have little in common and struggle for conversation, such that I would often rather avoid interaction. How can you abandon someone when their pain is always before you?

Think of all we would suddenly see.

The clerk snaps at you when you attempt to return an item at Target. "What's wrong with this?," she demands. You know a reason isn't required, only a receipt. You may realize she's likely exerting her frustrations on a stranger. Even so, you're tempted to snap back.

Until you see the words floating in front of her: "Lost 7-year-old daughter six years ago today to cancer."

Or, on a bright, sunny, spring day, when you are feeling on top of the world, you see an older man walking toward you on a city sidewalk. He looks at you. You smile. "Hello! Beautiful day, isn't it?" He frowns and walks on without replying and you feel a flash of annoyance. How could anyone be so rude on such a great day?

You turn to glare at his retreating back and there, in black and white letters, is the reason. "Agoraphobic." "Poverty stricken." "Abandoned by family." "Fears he will end life alone."

Even the seemingly happy ones would have stories. The handsome, smiling man who holds the door for you appears to never had had a care in the world, but there it is written: "Cancer survivor. In remission."

The couple holding hands make your heart ache because you have no one. His reads: "Twice divorced. Trying to love again but fears loss/failure."

We'd see things like these:

Pending divorce.

Fresh heartbreak.

Ongoing domestic violence.

No male role model in childhood.

Witnessed father's suicide as teen

Fired earlier today.

Undiagnosed anxiety disorder.

Long-term childhood sexual abuse.

All these things, if we but knew, could excuse so much and inspire us to send a smile to a sad-eyed stranger, ignore a hostile word.

But we can't know why. We can only imagine.

So when the driver tries to merge into your lane at the very last second -- miles after everyone else already has -- realize that he may not be just a jerk who fails to consider others' time. He may be an overworked, divorced dad trying desperately to make his son's final soccer game. And perhaps, instead of ignoring him or shooting him a glare in exchange for letting him in, you'll make the trip a bit brighter for you both. Perhaps you'll simply drop back, signal him in and smile.