Focus

Driving this morning and shifting, I realized I went through these motions 10 ,000 times before I ever drive a car. In the car with my Dad and Grandfather, watching intently and knowing the sound of rpms before and after a shift, the thrill of acceleration after a new gear. Practicing up in the attic where my father built us a rocket (and gave us gear shifts and steering wheels), shifting for hours, yearning for a time when I could legally drive – and was still 10 to 12 years away.

The feel of shifting, steering tacitly makes the earth seem solid under me, even as I’m moving, making me trust that everything will be alright, in an otherwise much more tentative world. It harkens back to a subliminal place in my mind where I feel safe and at home – worry free and marveling at everything.

Heading down Perry Highway, I passed a section of woods and with the sun streaming down, I smell the peppery odor of dewy fern fronds pushing up and leaves, just starting to decay. It takes me back to the farm, Rivendell, the commune where I spent some of my adolescent summers - and simultaneously I feel in the moment, feeling air and sun.

As I moved in towards Westview village, I noticed trees with lush leaves, some Maples to the right hanging over the road, pushing out to find more sun. The car hugged the curve, even though I wasn’t going fast, slight acceleration made me feel alive.

When the senses are in tune and the conscious and subconscious are clicking, each moment is a gift. At any other time, a routine drive – what a marvel that a slight shift in focus changes how we perceive things.