Be Present/Embrace Wonder (Life Lesson #4)

Part of an ongoing series of life lessons from the Blue Car

I made eight playlists before taking my U.S. road trip. I asked for recommendations from my kids, my friends, even from strangers through social media. I was proud of my winding road playlist, the rainy-day playlist, and the open road playlist. And what better time to catch up on my reading? I had a list of 20 audiobooks ready for download.

What did I actually do for 14,000 miles over 3-1/2 months?

I talked to myself.

I practiced being a sponge--soaking up sights, sounds, smells.

And I made 403 voice note recordings on my phone, saving my impressions of the wonder of the world around me for future reflection and sharing.

I happened to click on one of those voice notes on Saturday while I was procrastinating about writing this weekly article. I recorded it on an early November day in the Redwood forests along the coast of Oregon, when I shouted six minutes of thoughts above the roar of the engine. Listening to my voice recording took me right back to those Redwoods. It was a day of clear blue skies and just the right weather for cruising in the Blue Car. I remember the surprise of finding that winding road with not a soul in sight; I was the only person on earth that afternoon. I stopped the Blue Car to enjoy the absolute quiet and the majesty of the trees. I ate my lunch - salad with tuna and a mango yogurt – sitting on the soft floor of the forest and then enjoyed my apple while walking through the trees, swishing my feet through the needles on the ground and tracing my fingers along the bark of the trunks. I was fully present in the moment, immersed in the hush and magic; I was five years old again and seeing my first forest.

My voice notes are an effective strategy to record my reflections, questions, and impressions when I am driving, when pen and paper are not an option. But the truth is that I remember more from those 3-1/2 months on the road than from almost any other time of my life.

I remember making a last-minute decision to see the annular eclipse and driving for ten hours to get to Elko, Nevada. And then the excitement the next morning as I stood on the town green and someone handed me a pair of special glasses so I could watch the moon slip in front of the sun as a collective gasp came from the crowd.

And I won’t ever forget the delight of the country roads in Kentucky, taking me past thoroughbred farms and distilleries with the fields and white fences stretching as far as my eye could see. And then sitting at the yearling auction next to a man in torn jeans and a T-shirt who placed the winning bid of over $1 million dollars on one of those horses.

And the taste of the best pizza I have had in a long time is still in my mouth from one of my final stops of the trip. I was in New York City, my hometown, and driving north on 10^th Avenue when I stopped at a hole-in-the-wall pizzeria in Hell’s Kitchen. I ate that slice while leaning (carefully) against the Blue Car talking to a lady walking two dogs dressed in pink coats.

What made everything seem fresh and sharp and memorable for so many days? I was paying attention. From the start of that trip, the visceral experience of being in the Blue Car--the engine noise, the heat (no AC), and feeling every dip and swerve in the road through the springs in the seat—made me present in a way that I hadn’t been in a long time. There is no cushioned and quiet ride in the Blue Car, with a superb sound system surrounding me in whatever vibe I choose (what was I thinking about playlists???). My time behind the wheel has taught me to be focused on the present moment, to be open to the beauty and wonder of the here and now. It’s like seeing everything from a fresh perspective for the first time. Like being a child again.

As I was still procrastinating about writing this article on Sunday, and then Monday, I clicked through additional voice notes from my road trip and listened to my ruminations about the amazing downtown of Cedarburg, Wisconsin where a stranger bought me breakfast after talking to me about my car on the street; my questions as to why there seem to be more self-service car washes in California than in Massachusetts; and my delight at finding a group of bikers and their Harleys at a small country store in West Virginia and getting recommendations for the best roads in the area…just for the sheer pleasure of the ride.

Some of my being present, relishing the here and now, was simply the result of being in travel mode. When we are on our journeys, we tend to have our antennae up for the new and noteworthy; we are looking for interesting sights and new experiences.

The Blue Car deserves a shout out though; traveling in the car also made me more present with other people – it was a rare day that someone didn’t come up to me with a comment, a story, or a memory about a car their father owned, or one that they sold, or the one that got away. The Blue Car was my social callling card wherever I went; helping me engage in conversations and hear the pride people had in their communities.

Perhaps most special of all was the way I was present with myself. This seems silly I know: I am always with myself. But there’s a difference between going through the day focused on your to-do lists, and cooking dinner, and worrying about tomorrow, and being present in your thoughts and feelings in the moment. And doing this day after day after day. I wrote about this experience during my road trip in “Thought Box” – the way driving the Blue Car centers me and grounds me in the here and now.

It all made me wonder at what age I moved from experiencing the present moment and the absolute delight and wonder of it all – a new food, a brightly colored flower, a new friend, a new thought — to not always noticing everything around me. To not always paying attention to me.

Now that the trip is over, I sometimes employ a simple trick to remember this life lesson of paying attention and embracing wonder. When I find myself tuning out my surroundings on a walk with Leo, when I head to the grocery store, or when my head is into the to-do list, I use the Blue Car mantra to remind me to be present. I just repeat “Blue Car” in my mind, and it makes me smile as those two simple words snap me to attention. They are a reminder to open my eyes and look for the new, the interesting, the unexpected. The wonder of the world.

And about those play lists and audio books on my road trip…did I ever listen? I played music only a handful of times (the Eagles as I pulled into Winslow Arizona was one of them), and I listened to none of the audio books on my list. I guess I just didn’t feel the need to be pulled someplace else, into someone else’s world, fictional or not, when I had my own world and life on the road to inhabit. When I wanted to be present and enjoy each minute in ways that were utterly new and magical to me.

Thank you Blue Car.