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As a pedestrian who spends 99% of my "pedesting" mere inches from cars, the idea of roundabouts/traffic circles conjures an image of a maelstrom, except instead of the sea monster Charybdis swallowing and spewing water, she spews one-tonne chunks of metal, rubber, and plastic.
I don't want to get sucked into that.
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Knowing that death is certain and that the time of death is uncertain, what's the most important thing?
—Bhikkhuni Pema Chödrön
Humankind cannot bear very much reality.
—From "Burnt Norton," Four Quartets (1936), T. S. Eliot
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