On learning to drive slowly
and finding a new way for my nervous system to be in a car
Now that I have glasses, I’m enjoying real books again. Printed ones. You know. Made of paper.
I didn’t realise how much my vision had slipped.
Though I’m now quite attracted to the printed word, I still adore audiobooks. Since November I’ve been chiselling away at Tim Ferris’ Tools of the Titans.
Recently I listened to a bit where he describes the most luxurious experience to be those of slowing down and not feeling rushed in daily life.
The notion isn’t to live as though we had an endless amount of time, but that since our existence is, on a cosmic scale, very very short, that savouring time and having the means and presence of mind to find pleasure and savour moments is true luxury.
Of course, I was listening to this whilst barrelling down a twisty secondary highway along the ocean. Driving twenty kilometres per hour over the speed limit, I wasn’t necessarily in a hurry.
Instead? I was rushing. Partially because of how much I love to drive a hot hatchback. I love the feeling of going really quickly around a corner. And, partially because I always seem to move from thing to thing in a habitual rush. My nervous system is used to rushing.
When moving between things, I want to get there quickly. While moving between things, I feel urgent.
When being forced by traffic to move slowly, I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin.
When moving quickly between things, I feel powerful.
But I’ve been intrigued by this notion of savouring time. I’m in love with the idea of moving in an unhurried, non-busy, and unrushed way.
I’m curious about how this is going to work with my nervous system. Will I die of boredom? How will I tolerate open roads at a slow speed? How will I learn how to say ‘woah’ to myself?
With that in mind, I’ve been learning to drive slowly.
And the process for me has been even more uncomfortable than getting used to my bidet.
How do you tolerate the discomfort that comes with a big change?
It’s like the old saying goes:
Once you eat a pop tart, everything else tastes like broccoli.