Through the Looking Glass: 44. Morning Commute

Sunday, December 16, 2012

44. Morning Commute

As the dog and I growl morning greetings at one another vague images in my head remind me of the challenges yet come. Gagging down breakfast, choosing a suitable quarrel with my partner and chipping away at my children's self esteem are no more than distractions for what I truly fear....... the morning commute.

In this age of increasing spiritual awareness friends suggested that I embrace this daily nightmare rather than fight it. ... that I use it as a learning, growing, spiritual, Zen-like experience. Even though I am about as flexible as case hardened steel I did have to accept that this change of direction was preferable to suffering an aneurysm.

Not far into my journey I realized that starting my vehicle was an opportunity to engage in open-ended learning. Battery charging and boosting... tire repair and replacement... window scraping and snow brushing all contributed to my storehouse of knowledge. The changing seasons added variation to the learning at hand. 'Ditch Slide and Extraction' in the winter was as informative as the 'Choke and Sputter' during spring rains. I admit that the 'How many people can I splash?' in the spring is far more appealing than the 'How many toes will freeze off?' aspect of the winter sessions.

The Zen of the trip in allowed for a full exercising of all my senses. As my bladder quickly fills with the coffee I rented earlier in the morning, I use all my visual acuity to locate a washroom along my route. Other senses come into play as well. The sound of the broken fan belt slapping dents into my hood distract me from fully appreciating the delicate odour of diesel fumes coming from the eighteen-wheelers that have boxed me in.

The myriad of human behaviors also becomes more apparent as I become a more enlightened observer. The old philosophy of 'might makes right' is underscored in a loaded gravel truck changing lanes every thirty seconds while I have been trapped in the snail lane for at least thirty minutes. The higher aspects of humanity are observable as well however. Letting the little old lady move in front of me is a truly humanitarian gesture not diminished in the least when she lets three school buses and a cattle-liner move in front of her.

Tolerance, empathy and balance can be learned along the way as well. When I weigh the urge to scream expletives at the stalled car in front of me against the temptation to laugh at the ticketing of the jerk that cut me off, true balance is achieved. Resisting the compulsion to ram the slow Greyhound in front of me opens me up to be more tolerant. Understanding the grimace and yellowing eyes of the driver stuck beside me is an empathetic reaction based on my own experiences with an overfilled bladder.

The 'Commute' has opened my eyes to the learning that can be had in the other difficult areas of my life. I look forward to the discoveries and pleasures that will be gleaned from my next visit to the dentist.....the next tax audit.... and the next prostate exam I have to undergo.

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Introduction

Having moved at least twenty-five times in fifteen years has opened a world of learning to me. In six decades, an education ranging from the coldness of large cities to the isolation of remote rural locations to the busybody gossip of small towns and the wonder of the prairie and it's ocean of grass have all left their impressions on me.

Recently I relocated to a small city in British Columbia. It touted itself as a historical, cultural, educational and, over-all wonderful, place to live. Once I was past the trees and the rocks, the heights and the hills, the water and the wind, I calmed down and was ready to look at the people I was sharing that space with.

Every location I have ever squatted has had it's share of characters. Players in the cities along with the wide range of tinfoil hat wearers and baggy pants skaters were a given. Pop up strangers at odd hours surprised me with their appearance in the middle of nowhere. Rumours of my serial killer past from neighbours I had never met never swayed me. The wonder of gazing on the effects of wind on the grass ocean interrupted by a landowner enquiring why I was leaning on his fence was oft forgiven.

In this new locale a variety of characters as I had experienced elsewhere was a given. The density and variety of them however gave me more surprise than I would have expected.

I had heard comments about this place being a time warp to the sixties. However I only saw few that , by their appearance, I could say lived through the sixties. What apparitions appeared were younger and more colourful than I remember from that vague decade.

Purple haired strong armed accordionists, heavy head shaved violinists clutching tiny instruments, winter coated scarf wrapped individuals in shorts and oddly calm people with large coffees wandered the streets.

They wandered in and out of new age crystal shops, expressed opinions on local radio, bought nothing but organic food. They played jazz on squeeze boxes, made strings and wood sing in ways not intended, talked to themselves as they tightened their scarves and became more serene with each sip of coffee.

Characters here are more concentrated than in any other locale I have ever lived. It is a point of interest as well as point of concern.

It remains to be seen whether I will be mugged with organic carrots, side swiped by hooligan mountain bikers, be harangued with advice on dressing warmly or kept awake nights by jazzy sounds from an errant squeeze box. Whatever the outcome I am certain I could find it in no other place on earth to explore these particular uncertainties.

Until I am transplanted again, I extend every new-ager and boarder, every subculture economist and spiritualist, every would-be and wanna-be my deep thanks for extending me the opportunity of educating myself one measure more.