Exercising Your Driver. Properly.
I’ve had a small problem lately. You see, I've always had a strong driver side to my personality. You may have one too – our driver side is the one who jumps right in and takes charge and says ok, what are we doing here? And begins to organize, create, assert herself, and generally get things done and whether you like it or not tends to be the operative mode.
My problem is: What do I do when I have divested the Driver of her role in my life?
I’ve worked very hard to make it very, very clear to my driver that she does not define WHO I am and, indeed, is now just a set of tools pulled out when needed. I am no longer the person who depends on my driver to make life happen or even to kick some butt. I’m in a much happier, more truly me place now, and these days things are more relaxed and muse-led. My heart leads and my mind supports my heart.
Well, let me tell you one Cowgirl to another – this does not lead to a happy driver. Grumps and grumblings and attempts to run the show sneak out of the toolbox where I stuffed my driver when least expected. What I have discovered is my driver apparently needs to be periodically exercised or she goes a bit stir crazy!
But, you know, I get that. If I’m not creating every single day, I go just a bit stir crazy. Some would say its way more than a “bit.” Its like having a bit of chocolate or a bit of glitter, right? Its all relative in a cosmic sort of way. But I digress. The real question we need to address here is:
How does one exercise one’s driver side without having her take over and run your life?
My answer? Let her drive your car. No, really. Drive. Your. Car.
This may not work for most of you but I was raised in a culture of hot rods and revving engines and tracks. We headed out to the local fairgrounds to watch the demolition derby on Friday nights and watching the Indie 500 was a regular event. My brothers were always rebuilding engines in the garage and cruising on Thursday night as teenagers was a rite of passage. I still own a racing helmet.
Up until a year ago, I owned a Porsche 911 Carrera and I knew how to drive it. When I first bought it, I regularly took it auto crossing and learned to brake, spin, take curves, and generally go like a bat out of hell. I loved taking it out in the middle of a slow Tuesday afternoon, putting on my leather driving gloves, and turning the engine loose on the local windy roads. But alas, for a variety of reasons, it was time for a new car and I finally sold it to a couple of fellows who packaged it up and shipped it back to Amsterdam to restore for a collector.
Amusingly, the car I bought is like a sleeper hot rod. It accelerates faster than my old Porsche, handles like a nimble fairy racing up a hillside, and sneaks right past most folks like a grandmother tootling along. You just would not guess it has a “bat out of hell” mode. Its this little button called “sport mode.”
And what I have realized, is allowing my Driver out to drive like a bat out of hell is a perfect way to release that stir crazy energy and bring peace into my life.
Lets be clear – driving like a bat out of hell is not environmentally correct, it’s not polite and it’s not even legal on occasion. In fact, its downright rude, occasionally obnoxious, and is a great way to blow the frustration blues right out the window. However, as it is said, your mileage may vary.
So when the white SUV in front of me is insists on driving 15 miles under the speed limit when there is no traffic in sight on a back country road, I let my driver out, punch that little “sport mode” button, hit the gas, and zip by them like bat out of hell. It makes me smile. Wickedly.
And so you know, I do this in Cowgirl style. With my most outrageous lipstick on, preferably a tight-fitting black lace dress, a wicked grin on my face, pink rhinestones and black leather driving gloves. I figure if I going to exercise my driver, then let’s do it up and love every minute.
So I want to know, How do YOU exercise your driver?
* * *
This article was first published in the Cosmic Cowgirls Magazine.