My Zen Moments Came From Driving Fast And I Loved It

My “Om” came like this

My word on this, what I’m about to tell you is true.  My parents will likely be blowing up my cell after reading this post, but that’s neither here nor there.

My problem is I can’t let things go, can’t relax and just go with the flow, can’t achieve the art of just being. When I was younger and my frustration level had grown too intolerable for me to bear a second longer, I was able to seek escape from my as of then, un-diagnosed ADHD brain through driving.

This was well before a Duck arrived on the scene and way before I met a certain Doubting Thomas, so I was able to drive as fast and as hard I dared go and not have to answer to a single person.

The wild exhilaration I swiftly grew to crave came as soon as I pushed both the car and myself to the absolute edge of our collective capabilities.

I raced to beat my dragons and I raced to win. I managed to do both quite well. And it never failed to give my mind the rest it so desperately needed.

Having learned early on in my driving education, first from my father and a couple of very unlucky sisters in the backseat I decided I’d keep it as a solitary pursuit.

Mostly because I found that screaming passengers were a distraction I didn’t care for. No peace to be found in dragon slaying as it were, if I were constantly being bombarded with the babbling pleas for mercy from others.

It also tended to be a confidence eater. And it wasn’t like I didn’t have plenty of those already.

I raced hard and I raced often. And it helped.

I would race to escape when I had been made to feel small, had missed something obvious to everyone else, usually within the context of the social scene.

I raced when I felt lost in the idiosyncrasies of life and how it seemed to change the rules randomly and on whim.

I raced to feel as though I had some sort of control over my environment. One that I was at ease with because it was I, who made the rules and they never changed unless I wanted them to.

I raced often.

There was nothing finer to me than to push the gas pedal flat to the floor panel, feel my body pulled backwards into the seat, hear that engine snarl as it topped out, and see the tachometer stretch every so slightly closer towards the caution zone while the speedometer would rocket on up past the hundred mile an hour mark and then creep even further.

As the scenery blurred, I was calm once more. I knew peace. It was as if I’d been curled up into a tiny ball and was at long last, finally able to stretch my aching body out and allowing all of those cramped muscles to breathe once more.

The faster I drove, the calmer I became.

Racing other people was never planned but always welcomed. And word got around about the crazy girl who could outmaneuver most ordinary everyday wannabe’s who pretended to be good, but weren’t.

Neither was I, not that much. What I had though, was different. I had car cojones and I wouldn’t back down. Hence the crazy adjective.

The radio was always blaring but it wasn’t a distraction.

The choice of having the radio on was just that. It was more like a condiment. Like having mustard on a hot dog and a choice I could make without worrying about whether it was the right choice.

Blissful white noise would fill my mind and I would luxuriate in the relief of being released from the current issues at hand and from not having to hear my inner voice.

The one that has always whispered in a completely rational tone about how I will never quite measure up no matter how hard I try. How I should be content with what I can do, because after all, I have trophy cases full of epic fails and fantastic flops and a mere shelf of scant victories.

I despised that voice then, I hate that voice now.

I have since resigned myself to always being a bit on the socially inept side. I fear I will always uncomfortable within my skin, and I’m (mostly) cool with that.

But I really could use that escape hatch now. Nothing is right in my world just now.

I’m lost and I’m searching for what seems to elude me on a daily basis and makes me cry tears of pure frustration. I’m off-balance and only part of it is dealing with the incessant noise that comes from a hardworking man who comes home everyday and faithfully works until night shuts him down.

The rest of it is my having to deal with life as I know it and trying to make sense of what doesn’t make sense to me.

I can’t use the escape I’ve been dreaming of today, but I sure wish that I could.

There’s no way I can even contemplate using the car that is taunting me from the driveway. I can almost hear it telling me how much fun it would be, to take it out on some of these flat and mostly untraveled country roads.

How peaceful it would be to wind out all six of those gears, hear that engine growl and do some serious zen time. I wouldn’t even max it out. It has enough under the hood for me to take it to up one hundred twenty easily and back it down without even straining.

I’d be gentle. I want to so badly I ache. But then I remember that the damn car will tell on me. Somehow. And that I am accountable now. And older and all that.

Life is hard sometimes, I know.

I just want something, anything to break up that inner voice broadcasting inside my brain and it be something other than the poor table I’ve been abusing with my head.

I need a new way to relax

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