The Centered Driver’s Guide to Arriving Blissed, Not Blazing

A certain martial quality pervades California highways. A struggling for position, even for survival. As a visitor I consider myself more an observer than a participant. “Aha!” say I. “Note the restless natives. How hostile. How even bellicose.”

Then something pushes my competitive buttons. I am sucked into the fray as well. I, too, drop the niceties of direction signals (they only tip the enemy to your intentions). I, too, nose sharply from one lane into a dinky space in another. “Mine!” My brow, too, beetles. I hasten to append myself to the car in front, thus withering that would-be lane swapper in his tracks.

That’s when I know it’s time to go back to Santa Fe.

Or time to add a little art to the martial. That’s what this is about: a touch of martial arts in the martial atmosphere of Los Angeles traffic.

The key is centering. Centering is being balanced within yourself--physically, emotionally and intellectually. That’s the ideal anyway. How do you get centered? Probably a long history of meditation will do it. The study of aikido or tai chi is a pathway.

But a short route is breathing. Yes, I know all those scowling bird tossers on the freeway are breathing. But they are not Breathing. And that makes the difference. Their breath is no more than chest deep, rapid and rudely snatched from the air. The Centered Driver’s breath is belly-deep, accepted into the inner chambers.

Listen. Distant gongs. But try it. When you get into your car, take a few seconds to stop being foot-borne and become a Driver. Settle into your seat. Feel where you contact it. Let your shoulders drop from their ear-high strain. Be for a moment like a giant Beanie Baby plopped into place and let the beans settle. Shake them slightly. Settle some more.

And let your breath follow the settling, down to where your solar plexus contacts the seat. Meet the car there as if it were a horse and you are settling into a saddle.

This mutual center is where you will drive from. You will move the wheel from there, an extended full-body sense of motion that uses not just arms. That creates tension. You will even see from there--well, that may be overextending the metaphor. But you will sense a full-body wash of information--a general awareness of which seeing is just a part.

You receive from where you are, like film accepting an image. You do not send your eyes out on stems to focus narrowly. You are where you are. Here. Sensing there. (Hey, you’re a Californian. Could you be reading stuff like this in Peoria?)

Again, I say try it. You may well be astonished at how relaxed yet alert you feel. How cognizant of the general flow of traffic--its connected energy--and how unaffected you are by the individual vehicles in that flow. Mere particles.

Somehow, in that state of appreciating the grander picture, spaces actually open as you need them and close behind you. (When you are really into it, even parking places open up just 10 steps from the restaurant of choice.)

And if this approach doesn’t actually change things, it can change your perception of them. Irritation drains away instead of mounting to rage. You arrive where you are going blissed rather than blazing. That’s worth something.

Your centered state also is a powerful tool for coping with that great annoyance: a dawdling driver in the left lane who has room to move over but does--will--not.

The problem: Get the blocker to get out of the way. Once valid methods such as tooting the horn, flashing headlights or filling the offender’s mirror with your toothy grille now inspire either ennui or obstinacy. That’s what we seek to avoid.

This method works at an unconscious level and involves a projection of energy from your own centered state. Thusly: Touch on but do not invade the blocker’s space. Your presence should be felt only subliminally. Run in the far left of your lane so that you are sighting directly into the driver’s side mirror. Now project an energy beam on the left rear fender. And the mirror for good measure. Breathe deeply and zap ‘em.

As if responding to a posthypnotic suggestion, the blocker will suddenly move to the right lane. Yes-s-s!

Well, not always. But try it. And it’s all there for the breathing.

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Highway 1 contributor Denise McCluggage is an author, syndicated automotive columnist and former international racing driver. McCluggage, who writes from Santa Fe, N.M., can be reached via e-mail at denmac@rt66.com.