Driving Under the Influence

 A while back, in answer to an audience question, His Holiness the Dalai Lama solved one of the greater mysteries of our times: road rage. Asked why even perfectly patient, generous, compassionate Buddhist practitioners are apt to go ballistic behind the wheel, His Holiness said traffic messes with our most primal instinct: pacing. Our sense of pace, tightly tied to our primal sense of space, is the mark of our evolution to two legged walking, upright running, flight or fight responders. It is is lodged in our limbic brain, embedded in our sense of well-being, expressed as instinct. We all run on our own individual rhythm, a beat keyed to our personal energy level, at a velocity between Speedy Gonzalez and lazy boy. So on a freeway, anyone programmed to go 65 mph who suddenly gets brought up short by someone moseying along at 45 is destined to go ape in the true sense of that word. Their primal sense of forward motion has, His Holiness said, been thwarted.

I know that feeling well. I am a speed queen constantly cut off at the pass. An unending stream of dawdling drivers unwilling to acknowledge the exclusive privilege of the left lane-- even as they pass signs that say: Slower Traffic Keep Right, thwart an instinctual sense of movement honed keeping up with a grandmother who trotted even when she was 95. I have to work very hard to keep calm when I have to keep my foot on the brake going forward. Since I can't get past their car, I have to work extremely hard to get past other driver's selfishness to forgive them. 

Part of the reason I have a problem with forgiveness is that I understand it's these pokes who cause the mysterious sudden clogs that make you slam on the brakes and pray the car behind you does quickly too. Dawdlers cause others to slalom dangerously across lanes, putting other drivers in jeopardy, just to get around them. Crawlers cause accidents. California and New York highways are especially nerve-wracking, constipated as they are by sashaying egomaniacs hogging the left lane.

As much as I love that lane, I have no problem yielding its privilege to a car roaring toward my tailgate. It's not just that I want to steer clear of a fender bender. In my dreams slowpokes yield for me, so why not set an example and try to make dreams come true? More crucially, why torture someone trying to get ahead? Especially when I have no idea why. Maybe the passenger is about to have a baby? Maybe the plane is 15 minutes from leaving the runway? Maybe the driver is desperate to pee? Who am I to judge? I was once literally racing a potentially dying dog to the vet when I was abruptly brought up short by some gray-haired dick smooth talking a sweetie in his expensive two-seater top down. He was doing 15 miles per hour. Every time I flashed my lights or tapped my horn for him to pull over, he stepped on his brake to dead stop as though he owned the road. And while he was playing his dangerous game, my dog got closer to death. Who wants to grow up to be a jerk like that?

When you watch your mind while you are behind the wheel, you eventually understand driving requires your Bodhisattva best. A foot on the gas pedal means your survival actually depends on being mindful of others. You absolutely must take them into account and deal with them...how should I put it....head on. On highways shared by Chinese who drive like they are on a two-wheel bicycle and Latino teens whizzing by with macho v...v...vroom to spare, you must give full attention to the moment if you want to get to the next one. You must give these offensives the best defensive driving. When you live among armies of the elderly, you have to realize they have nowhere to go and all day to get there. You could give them a heart attack making them rush, and anyway most of the time they really are so focused on staying at the wheel, they become oblivious to others.

I sometimes think in a car on the road everybody thinks they are the only body. Countless drivers sit in the cocoon of their vehicle, chatting away or contemplating their next move, completely oblivious to the cars around them. My particular favorites are those who, like the left lane loungers, never notice or just don't care there is someone else behind them. They slow to crawl while finishing a phone conversation or searching for something in the glove box or rummaging in the paper pile on the passenger seat. Never occurs to them to pull over. 

Some people leave two full car lengths empty between themselves and the car in front. So what that they've prevented the car behind from, say in San Francisco, pulling into the special and very short left turn lane, thus clogging up lanes of traffic behind. So what that they've thwarted others from making the light and not having to wait as long as three minutes for the next green at the five road intersection because, hey, they made it. Who else is there?

My real super favorites are drivers who suddenly see a parking space or a turn they forgot about and slam on their brakes as though nobody else is anywhere around. It's all about them. Just like my superduper favorites, the 20somethings whose sense of entitlement is so strong, they will--without blinker of course-- pull into a lane without even bothering to check if someone else is already right there in it. Twice now I've come close to collision.

The more I watch my mind, the more I see how the selfishness of other drivers makes me lose my mind behind the wheel. I want to scream: Hey! You are not the only person in the universe. But the Buddhist in me says to swallow the road rage and digest the insult. These people on the roadways of Samsara are not under the influence of Dharma, trying to get to Nirvana.  

Driving is great practice in confronting the foibles of others and surviving them.  It's the hard work of accepting that there are others. It's the challenge of understanding  their speeds, sharing the road, and having the generosity to get out of their way. An automobile is truly a vehicle/yana for a Bodhisattva.







~Sandy Garson "Wordsmithing to attest how the Dharma saved me from myself!"
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