There is a stretch of highway just outside of my town that I frequently use, to bypass the busier city streets. Two miles of pressed asphalt, it is only the space between two exits on a busy interstate. Using it shortens the commute home. But the road is aging; the shortcut can be a bumpy ride. And so, after scores of trips, I’ve learned where the bumps, craters, and mini-crevasses lie so that gently, yet with purpose, I weave my wheels first right, then left, then in alternating style as I try to avoid the road’s assaults on rim and rubber while remaining in the same lane. To someone traveling behind me, I must sometimes seem to be impaired. Perhaps only when they bang into a hole that I’ve try to avoid do they understand what it is I am up to.
Occasionally I make it through those two miles of highway unscathed. That gets a smug smile or relieved sigh. More typically though, despite my best efforts, one of the dreaded momentum jarrers jabs me. The impact reverberates across frame of both automobile and occupant. It sharpens my focus on the stretch of pavement ahead.
They are out there, the perturbations and imperfections in life’s surfaces, the divots and indecencies surprising our daily activities. The potholes.
It is impressive how quickly one can open up. Seemingly without warning, a piece of the world that was smooth yesterday becomes a disrupter today. The change can be sudden. It can cause harm. It can feel unfair.
I don’t know about you but I still can get offended when one of life’s potholes presents itself. What did I do to deserve that? I was just moving along calmly, minding my own business, maybe even enjoying a moment or two of calm and peace. Then wham. Reality wrecks the serenity. Tranquity cedes the stage to strife.
The material world ages, sure. And our lives do not come with guarantees. But it would be nice to know what we can depend on. It would seem just to be able to rely on the same rules of the road from one day to the next.
We know this cannot be so. We understand that we shouldn’t expect tomorrow to honor our efforts from today. We’ve heard that attachment can lead to suffering.
Still, we expect. We traverse the diurnal patchwork of repaired behaviors and pathways and we adapt. We attach. We suffer.
I am learning to integrate some symbols of release into my circadian rituals and rhythms. It can be something visual: a small Buddha, a Catholic prayer card, a picture of my children when they were young, a single word on a piece of paper. It can also be a pattern: saying the words ‘thank you’ when my feet touch the floor each morning, taking a deep breath before I eat my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, touching a piece of sculpture or a crystal each time I pass. The point of the exercise is not to have new routine but to have less. It is to remind me to pause, to smile, to wake up. To be.
Life will always have potholes. Some of them are and will be more serious than others. It is nice when, because of either my navigation skills or the simple flow of the universe, I am able to avoid them. It is best, however, when I am prepared to bounce through and out of them, without taking the experience too personally. Smooth passage now is no assurance of a bump-free future. And a moment-pounding present is not a guarantee of a discord-filled tomorrow. I know the distinction, intellectually. I still need plenty of cues and traffic signs, emotionally and spiritually.
So if you see me weaving down my daily life commute, careful that you don’t necessarily follow the same path: my skills are under continuous development. Sadly, I still head straight into holes that yesterday I knew were there. Besides, I may following someone else whose courage and aplomb I admire, someone else who I’m hoping has figured out the best route to safety and smooth sailing.
Someone like you.