Taking Your Foot off the Brakes
Do you have pet peeves about driving and drivers?
One of mine is being behind people who drive with one foot on the gas pedal and the other on the brakes. It seems their brake lights are on almost all the time as they can't decide whether to stop or go, even with no visible signs of roadblocks or accidents ahead of them. I'm left wondering, "What are they stopping for? or "What are they anticipating stopping for?"
One thing's for sure. They were not taught how to drive by my Father. He was a manufacturer's rep and traveled all over the Midwest visiting his clients. I guess he learned rules of the road for every situation because learning to drive with him in the car was painful. Not only was I told what I did wrong, but was lectured on the whys and wherefores of any and all common mistakes people make while driving. To his credit, I am an excellent driver, and, admittedly, a bit critical of other drivers. He would never have condoned a double-foot driving move - brake and gas simultaneously.
However, I wonder how many times I have done this in my everyday life. I seem to have a clear path ahead of me to accomplish a goal, no visible problems ahead of me, and yet, I put on the brakes. I can imagine those guardian angels around me (or my Father) saying, "What is she stopping for?" What they want to tell me is to peel out, make a noise, gain speed and keep up the momentum.
This is particularly true if I feel that what I've set out to do is something I've felt inspired to do. I should know that I will be provided a way to accomplish that thing. But, in this world, we sometimes tend to be overly cautious, not wanting to make a mistake or look foolish.
Whenever I think of a life unburdened by extreme caution, I think of a poster a friend got me to hang in my family room. He bought it for me because I told him that, when little, I loved to pretend I was Annie Oakley (a cowgirl, for those of you too young to know this name). I had a cowgirl hat and skirt, a fringed vest and boots. What is a cowgirl without a horse and gun? I rode a stick horse around the house endlessly (mind you this was way before electronic games) and shot my cap guns off at any lil' varmint that crossed my path.
The ants building a hill next to our front walk were fair game for target practice. I'd fire off a fourth of a roll until I became more interested in how the ants built their hill and would lay on the warm concrete sidewalk for what seemed hours watching them carry bits of things and other dead ants (not from my gun) into the hill and out of sight below ground.
It was on this very section of grass that I found a whole bevy of four-leaf clovers, the luckiest thing any cowgirl could ask for on a bright summer afternoon. These I'd wrap in tin foil and press in a large poetry book my Mother had given me one Christmas. They are, to this day, pressed among my favorite poems I memorized for Mrs. Eisenkramer's fifth grade class - Poor Old Lady She Swallowed a Fly, Here Lies John Bun, Lorelei, all the great works.
Anyway, the poster my friend bought was an artist's rendition of a cowgirl on horseback; a bucking bronco to be exact. She hung on to the horse reigns with one hand and twirled a lasso in the other, cattle running around her, ready to be snared.
When I feel burdened or immobilized in life, I picture this gal on horseback, riding free with the wind in her face and spurs on her boots. I picture her yelling "Yippee!" frightening the birds overhead and taking off, full speed ahead. And I'm reminded that it's time to take off the brakes and see just where the ride takes you.