Several months ago, I was tooling up Interstate 5, through Central California.

If you know the route you appreciate how dull the scenery can be. It's a desert, punctuated by beautiful green rectangles of agriculture, and spotted with signs that say things like, "This Water Feeds America.”

Somewhere along the way, I decided I wanted to have lunch by a certain time, so I gunned it into hyper-drive, and the cars in the right lane suddenly seemed to be standing still.

The highway patrolman who pulled me to the side asked me what was the emergency, and I couldn't think of one.

He wrote me up for going 20 miles per hour over the speed limit.

There was no emergency, at all, just an artificial deadline that I had imposed, an arbitrary time at which I wanted to be having lunch up the road at a nice restaurant—the only for 200 miles.

Like trying to figure out how much mileage you're getting as you're rolling along, this was just another highway game I was playing to make the time go by.

But I was on vacation, and really, it made no difference whatsoever if I arrived at my final destination an hour early, or not. The drive, itself, was as much a part of getting away, as the sunsets I anticipated watching at journey's end.

All of which brings up this point: How many of life's deadlines are self-imposed stressors, and how many are genuine, i.e. are requirements of life that are imposed on us?

Clearly, I made my own problem, by setting up an unrealistic time to be eating my lunch at that roadside restaurant. But this isn't unusual.

For example, today, there are millions of students in college who are trying to graduate in 4-5 years, but what if it took six, yet they were better able to afford it, or they could relax and enjoy the experience more?

Wouldn't that reduce stress and b

Some people say they work better under a deadline. Possibly, they have a procrastination problem, so deadlines are needed to get them out of first gear. I understand that.

I used to put myself under extraordinary pressure to catch a flight on Fridays from Houston to Los Angeles. If I caught it, I would arrive home about a half hour earlier, given rush hour traffic, than if I caught the next flight, which departed an hour and a quarter later.

Once, I had just made it through security, crumpled into my seat, when the passenger next to me asked, with a mixture of concern and alarm, "Are you ok?”

Given how profusely I was sweating, and my rapid respiration, he thought I might be having a coronary!

Is it worth it?

The next time you find yourself rushing, ask whether it is really necessary. Is the deadline you're racing against a stress reducer or a stress inducer?