“How you do one thing is how you do everything,” my yoga teacher has a way of saying the exact moment I decide I can’t hold this *#$%ing chair pose one more moment. But she’s right. And so I hold on, legs shaking, trying to be that person who believes in herself and her ability to hold the chair pose a few seconds longer. I hold on because the class is on Zoom and I’ve got webcam on, otherwise I’d totally… oops.
If how you do one thing is how you do everything –and we exclude the chair pose because it’s cruel to hold the position of sitting in a chair for more than 4 seconds without an actual chair– how do you drive?
I live in L.A.; it’s all about driving.
Are you a Type 1 Driver? Do you have a tight grip on the wheel? Are all other cars obstacles to be avoided (and feared) and all other drivers enemies?
Slight detour? Unhappy!
Traffic? Rage!
How about a Type 2 Driver? Are you asleep at the wheel? Not like, I’m-so-cool-I-have-a-self-driving-Tesla and it’s fine to sleep in my ride. More like snoozing through the journey. Type 2 says, I go one specific route from A to B because that’s the shortest one or it’s routine! Or, I drive this way because that’s how I’m supposed to drive. Basically, are you a park and drive within the lines kinda gal/guy?
Or are you a Type 3 Driver? Do you keep a soft grip on the steering wheel, while the tunes are rocking and your GPS gently nudges you in the right direction?
Detour? New roads and scenery to admire!
Traffic? Time for a new podcast!
Soccer ball kicked by the neighbor’s kid denting your brand new Tesla? Time to play!
Are you Type 1, 2, or 3 Driver?
Depends? If it’s a leisurely weekend day trip or a manic Monday? On who’s driving in the car behind you? The time of your last refuel?
If how you do any one thing is how you do everything, how you drive is how you live.
Ok, it doesn’t have to be so extreme. We all have Type 1 days. Come to think of it, Type 2 days have become months in some (personal) cases. But in general? How do ya roll? And is that the way you choose to drive, live, relate, love, and be?
After explaining this metaphor to my 10-year old son to ensure it was understandable (and that has NOTHING to do with my average readership age, btw), I asked him how I drove.
He laughed. “You drive like Type 1.”
“No, honey. This is, like, A METAPHOR! I know I drive like that on the highway because I HAVE TO OR WE WOULD DIE!” I explained. “But if I were talking about how I am in life… you know, how am I when I’m not behind the wheel? I’m so Type 3, right?”
“You’re better when you’re not driving, Mom,” he spit out unwillingly. “You’re not confident when you drive here.”
God that hurt.
If I’m not confident driving here it means I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust other drivers. I don’t trust the car, the road, the traffic, the anything. Oh wait, we’re talking about driving? Or life?
I want to be a Type 3 driver. A Type 3 driver trusts life. If every day is a winding road, and the road of life is winding, a Type 3 driver accepts that at times it’s smooth going, and for months on end it may be stop-and-go to only be met by a cross-country trip over speed-bumps (i.e. the year 2020).
I love me a good metaphor (and hope you do, too). So, if the car is my body, I stop to refuel (or recharge). The GPS is my own internal guidance and I’m checking in with it as I go. I’m also present to the here and now. The road signs and cruise control give me external support to make the whole journey more comfortable. I WANT ALL OF THAT! As in driving, so in life!
Be like a Type 3 Driver! Not only when driving. When you do chair pose, or when you help your 5th grader with his book report that was due December 18th (and it’s mid-January and he’s still reading the book), or even when the lady at the beach tells her kid to give space to someone else in THE PACIFIC OCEAN, but you mistakenly think she’s telling your kid who’s swimming on his own IN THE OCEAN where he needs to be in THAT WIDE OPEN SPACE, which enrages you beyond comprehension.
Yes, I know. I’ve got Type 1 issues. I’m working on it. In the above example when my son told me I was embarrassing for telling the lady to not tell him where to be in the ocean because she wasn’t talking to him I definitely switched gears and drove like a Type 3: I cowered back to my beach chair in shame, asked my son to forgive me for being a jerk, and atoned myself by writing this story in a blog.
That’s my simple approach to moving from Type 1 to Type 3 in life: first wince, then apologize, try to learn from the experience, and forgive yourself because that’s how gracious Type 3 is.
Repeat after me, me.
I trust life.
I trust myself.
I trust you.
I trust the universe.
I trust everything.
Love and peace on your journey, especially if you’re driving on the (highway) 405.
