As a child, my brothers and I played a game in our basement called “town” on rainy days. We shared the chance to drive on a chalked road using one rusty, pedal-driven metal car on the little lane we had created. Rarely did I get to drive but when I did, I enjoyed it. Most of the time, I tended to play in the little classroom as the teacher. The town was small. There wasn’t really enough room for more than one vehicle. When we played outside, tricycles and bikes were our preferred modes of travel on our sidewalks. Starting with toddler toys, we often focus on driving; we are born getting ready to hit the road.
Parents create safe seats for children to ride in cars with entertainment to distract them from the time spent on the journey. The days of staring out the side windows in thought have dwindled. Also lost is the Sunday afternoon drive, most drive-ins and large families that had to stuff kids into the family cars.
Our first driving experiences and getting a license are great rites of passage. The freedom involved in being able to get away from it all will always be a necessary component to daydreams. Most of us spend a lot of time driving from here to there. Our cars and our travel culture mean a great deal to us and reinforce our belief in the freedom of the open road. What I did not realize is that driving would help me understand my own freedom.
My epiphany came on a seemingly normal drive to work. Ruminating about making the right decision on a big project was starting to create a circle of thoughts but not much action. I knew implementation was what I wanted and action was what I needed. But I wasn’t moving ahead. I stopped at a red light and realized that I was sick of my own thoughts and spoke out loud to myself. I slapped the wheel in acknowledgement and proclaimed “I’m driving the bus.” In reality, I drive a small SUV.
Never having driven a bus, this would appear to be a strange thing to say. But I knew what I meant. I had exasperated myself in putting off the inevitable act of taking control. When the light turned green, I felt both relieved and excited and drove off determined to make the kind of decisions to start the project right away. Between the red light and the green light, I had moved through an existential dilemma. Maybe because it seemed so unlike me, “I’m driving the bus” became my new catch-all phrase. It delivered in every situation and moved me positively forward. And I don’t mind sharing it when needed.
Being stuck is a miserable thought. The beauty of having a reminder to myself that I create my own life simplifies the process of taking the next right step. And that is all that is necessary most days. One more step that carries me that much closer or provides a subtle change in perspective to help my intentions bloom into reality. I like to drive and even if it isn’t a bus, the metaphor fits. As long as I remember that all it takes is a little medal pedal-driven car to move around town, I will grab the wheel and go.
What is your mantra to move? Can you express what freedom means to you in words? What does it take to get unstuck?
