My father taught me to drive. Now, he wasn’t a
patient man, and I had dreaded the lessons. It turned out it was the one thing he
taught me where he didn’t lose his patience—neither when I was fifteen and had my
learner’s permit nor a few years later when he taught me to drive a stick.
Dad was born in 1914, and the first car he ever
saw had a crank. As a young man, he and his fellow police academy students made
a rapid exit from Poland at the outset of World War II. He wound up in Falkirk,
Scotland, a Sergeant Major in the Allied Forces whose main task was to teach
British soldiers to drive.
So, as nervous as I was—he’d seen it all
before. Even today, while I’m driving, I remember his tips—how you line up the
groove on the driver’s side of the hood with the yellow line to find the sweet
spot in your lane, and how driving too slow in traffic is as dangerous as
driving too fast.
Yes, other folks have GPS units that talk to
them. I hear the echo of Dad’s Polish accent saying “Let him pass, let him
pass.”
I’m a good driver, but I can’t say that I enjoy
driving. There are times I enjoy it,
on long drives when there’s no traffic—then I can get some serious thinking
done. But add in other drivers, and my stress level rises as their numbers
increase. Driving at night? Forget it. My hands literally cramp up because I am
clutching the steering wheel so tightly.
It’s something I need to work on.
It’s just that I feel vulnerable behind the
wheel.
When you’re driving, not only are you dependent
on what you do—but you’re also completely dependent on other people doing the
right thing. Personal driving styles vary based on expectations of other
drivers.
Okay. There are some people who don’t seem to
even notice that there are other drivers on the road—they are travelling their
own personal Autobahn. Let them pass.
Everyone else seems to be somewhere on the road
from believing every other driver is going to do the right thing to assuming
everyone is, well, out to get me.
I’ve been the passenger, when as we’re getting
cut off, the driver refuses to take evasive action because “the other driver
just can’t do that.” Then there’s me.
I know how distracted I can get, so I just assume that “the other guy” isn’t paying
attention—and now that cars have become mobile offices, I’m drinking a lot of
Tension Tamer tea.
How like life?
If you go through life confident that everyone
else is going to treat you and yours right, there’s a good chance you’re going
to get hurt. Assume that everyone is going to do you wrong, and you won’t be
disappointed.
Just like when driving, the only person whose
actions and reactions you can control is you.
Personally I’m looking forward to automated
travel. They are developing cars that will link together, like a train, that know
where you’re going—and get you there. No thinking necessary. Then we’ll be able
to text to our hearts’ content.
You can
subscribe to philosophies and dogma that do approximately the same thing—you can
check your brain and free will at the door. Sounds safe, but it all depends on
whose conducting the train—you could wind up in a Jonestown.
As Unitarian Universalists we’ve decided to
stay in control, but how to stay on the right road? There are driving tips—the seven
principles.
We
covenant to affirm and promote:
- The inherent worth and dignity of every person;
- Justice, equity and compassion in human relations;
- Acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth in our congregations;
- A free and responsible search for truth and meaning;
- The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregations and in society at large;
- The goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all;
- Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.
But
it’s going to happen. You’re going to get cut off, rear ended, sideswiped, and yes,
there’ll be some head-on collisions.
You’ll
have to choose: road rage, or just let them pass.
This
is the time of year when we’re all doing a lot of looking in our rearview
mirrors, and it can be overwhelming.
“In the rear-view mirror suddenly
I saw the bulk of the Beauvais Cathedral;
great things dwell in small ones
for a moment.” [by Adam Zagajewski]
It’s
tempting to just step on the gas and drive on.
Should old acquaintance be forgot, and
never brought to mind? I don’t know about you, but I’ve tried. After the end of
the most devastating relationship of my life, I spent about twenty years trying
to believe it never happened. But as Ovid writes: “Suppressed
grief suffocates, it rages within the breast, and is forced to multiply its
strength.”
I kept getting lost on the same road. I needed
to go back, to remember, to learn the lessons—difficult as they were—otherwise there
was no way to move forward. It’s something I still need to work on.
And then sometimes I held onto the past so
tightly that I couldn’t find my way out of the parking lot.
So as we climb into our 2013 driver’s seats, we
need to take a long look in the rearview mirror—it may need some adjusting. And
check out those side mirrors as well. Then, with those seven driving tips
echoing—drive on.
“We’ll take a cup of kindness yet.”
It’s true we all have blind spots—that’s where
love will guide us. [Follow with “Love Will Guide Us by Sally Rogers.]
