I’ve written about becoming aware that mindfulness was a gift that Harvey experienced in his time with Alzheimer’s disease here. Today, I want to share an experience with mindfulness that I recently had.
Can driving be mindful? We usually think of driving as an activity that gets us from point A to point B, and it often feels like we are on autopilot.
But probably the most mindful activity I’ve encountered was driving the Tail of the Dragon from Tennessee into North Carolina. Its official designation is US Highway 129, and consists of eleven miles and 318 curves, many of them named. Since I purchased a used Mazda Miata five years ago, I’ve been told countless times that I needed to drive this road. It is a destination for drivers of motorcycles and sports cars.
And that is exactly who I encountered on my drive. No RVs, big-rig trucks, or bicycles were to be seen. There were Harley stores and motorcycle hangouts at both ends of this segment of highway. It felt as if I were entering an amusement park for vehicles—a rollercoaster for those of us with fun-to-drive wheels.
Because I’ve owned the car for five years now, I have had experience driving it on twisting, curving mountain roads. But I was a little intimidated to enter The Tail of the Dragon because of its reputation. But enter I did.
I really can’t tell you much about the specifics of my drive. I don’t know the elevation change, but I assume that I ascended into the mountains, then dropped back down. I couldn’t begin to tell you about any particular curve or how I tackled each one.
I was totally immersed in the driving experience. Every nerve ending in my body was honed to the task.
I was fully engaged
—with my mind, my eyes, my ears, and my sense of location in space.
I was aware of my surroundings only as they related to the road and the car. I remember flashes of wildflowers and the occasional sign. And the professional photographers set up strategically, with their huge camera lenses trained on me and my car. I felt famous for the split second that I noticed them.
It sounds clichéd, but I felt merged with my tiny toy car as I maneuvered the turns and banks of the Dragon’s Tail. My instincts to accelerate, brake, or make fine adjustments for an approaching turn were fully present. There was no time for fear or anxiety. I could only drive.
It was an intense experience, but I reveled in the sensation of being so attuned to this one task.
Here was mindfulness on steroids.
Sometimes our lives move fast, with changes coming at us quickly. We can’t always slow down. What if we lived mindfully in times like this? Completely aware of our immediate surroundings, making small adjustments when life throws us a curve. So focused on and attentive of our current situation that our instincts operate precisely.
What if we were so attuned to our circumstances and those people around us, that we felt merged with them—not in a controlling manner, but by a meshing of our collective goals?
Rather than setting the cruise control on the six-lane freeway, what if we took the back roads and concentrated all of our attention on the details of our one singular, precious life?
Getting from point A to point B is much more interesting if we are engaged and alert, even if we are moving very quickly.