http://au.carbage.blogs.topgear.com/2012/04/02/is-driving-a-form-of-meditation/
Is driving a form of meditation?
at 12:35 pm on Monday April 2, 2012
I’m about to do something that will have some of you scratching your beards, and some of you gurgling in disagreement. That’s fine, it’s only my opinion. You may post yours below, and I’ll read and reply to each one.
I’m going to compare two apparently opposite things: driving and meditation.
I am obsessed with driving cars. And I don’t mean crawling along in traffic, shaking fists at rodent-like taxi drivers and wearing out clutches. I mean a ribbon of lonely country road, free from other cars. Just you, the car, the road.
My best memories of driving are all at night, and by myself. Roaring along a mountainous country road, both windows down, staring into the puddle of two headlights. There will be music on. There will be no passenger.
When I broke up with a girlfriend once, immediately afterwards, the only thing I wanted to do was spend hundreds of kilometres driving my old, supercharged Toyota MR2. To nowhere in particular, with no time limit. And with a backing track of something slow and melancholy, that’s exactly what I did, just to clear my head.
Now, I will confess, I am a normal bloke – and I have tried meditation before. I suppose my mother is intrinsically a hippy, and it’s these genes that have tickled my interest in things spiritual. Particularly because I am a reluctant atheist and, as a 24-year-old, I’m trying to figure out how to fill the existential void that religion fills for so many millions. I’m not about to begin dressing like Ghandi and bowing to Ganesh, but I found myself curious in meditation, so at the behest of a close friend, I gave it a crack. I’ll try anything once.
Yes, it’s all hilarious breathing exercises and sitting still. I felt a bit weird doing it the first couple of times. The idea is that you learn to silence the frenzied cyclone of thoughts spinning around your head at any one time. The more you do it, the stronger the psychological muscle becomes. After a short while, I noticed my concentration at work had improved, I was sleeping much better, and the emotions of anger, impatience and frustration began to evaporate from my day-to-day living.
And then it clicked: that’s why I’ve always liked driving, that’s why I’ve liked watching the shimmering city lights disappearing in my rear vision mirrors. That’s why I like watching a bit of country road tumbling through my windscreen. It has meditative qualities; it’s therapeutic.
When you’re driving, your concentration is taken up by the process of operating a car. Particularly if it’s manual. Your brain is constantly being fed too much information – street signs, corners, kamikaze kangaroos, gears, etc. Driving puts you under a spell by distracting you from reality; it takes you on a holiday from whatever’s on your mind. You can’t possible entertain worries about work, your love life, or anything else when you’re approaching a hairpin at 100km/h. All you’re thinking about is how hard you need to stomp on the brake pedal.
Of course, I don’t need to explain that I much prefer to spend my existential musings at 100km/h, shredding my cochleae with Radiohead, or bringing the horizon closer with a dollop of throttle. I much prefer to do that, than sitting on the floor breathing in and out. In fact, I don’t really do that anymore – meditation, that is. Because I’ve found a different form of therapy. And if you’ll excuse me, it’s getting dark and I’ve got some kilometres to add to my car’s odometer.
