As I was driving the other day, I
noticed a bumper sticker that read: "Speak your mind, even if
your voice is shaking."
 Good advice on the back
of a dented fender, I thought. Instead of political slogans that convince
no one of any thing, we could stick all kinds of good advice and helpful
reminders on our fenders. Sing Often. Dance Daily. Write Poetry on
Cafe Napkins. Look Into the Eyes of the Bridge Toll Taker.
I went to traffic school
last week-Comedy for Less Traffic School. The teacher, who wore jeans
and a white button- down shirt, and had thick brown hair flowing out
of a central bald spot, and a scar running down the side of his neck
(from a car accident? is that why he was there teaching traffic school?)
was not particularly comedic. But I assessed from a few allusions
he made (films he recommended, quick asides) that he was smart, very
smart, and I imagined he was a screenwriter teaching traffic school
to support himself until Hollywood found him.
He expressed sympathy for
all of us, having to sit there for hours because some cop had been
hiding behind a tree at a speed trap, or caught us not waiting to
count one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, while
maintaining a complete brake-depressed halt at a stop sign at midnight
at an intersection where there were not any other cars in sight as
far as the eye could see. But he said despite what we had been caught
fo,r we all had something to learn about driving and, in the end,
I realized he was right.
As I pulled out of the
hotel driveway after eight hours of traffic school, I was determined
to be mindful. I made a careful left turn, using my turn signal even
though no car was behind me, and realized I had accidentally turned
into the wrong lane and the headlights of oncoming cars were racing
towards me. I swerved into the proper lane. Luckily, I hadn't been
spotted by any law enforcement officers. You can only attend traffic
school once every 18 months. I was driving worse than I remembered
driving in my entire adult life. Did I always drive this poorly and
was only now aware of it, or had traffic school made me too self-conscious,
too nervous, too paranoid.
After a few days, I calmed
down and my driving took on a more natural rhythm. But I was still
paying a different kind of attention to the task. This morning I noticed
a blue Volvo ahead of me zipped through an entirely red light; not
a yellow light going red, but a red red red light. Last night a cop
made a U-turn in the middle of a four lane thoroughfare without signalling
and then zipped through a red red red light. I suppose he's allowed,
but he didn't have his siren on or even his lights flashing.
But what I'm trying to
get at is this:Traffic school is really about cultivating compassion.
I was given the same teaching at traffic school that I am given by
all the great spiritual teachers I have had the privelege to hear.
Be nice. Be patient. Don't blame other people for your own suffering.
Slow down. Be compassionate. Think of other people's needs, not only
your own. Your actions effect others actions. We are interconnected.
There is no separate self.
I've been thinking about
starting a traffic school called Traffic School for the Soul. As a
side job, while I write my screenplay. After all, I live in Marin
County and the police do have quotas to fill so there's a guaranteed
clientele. Imagine the possibilities. Traffic School for the Soul
for Singles. Traffic School for the Soul for Seniors. Traffic School
for the Soul for Dog Lovers. For Meditators. For Gourmands.
Would you come? Or would
you stick to Pizza Traffic School?
© Nina Wise
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