America is a driving nation, and has been since Henry Ford first started rolling cars off his assembly lines. Geographically, this makes sense—we are a large country and, for many, owning a car just makes good sense. But, car ownership means so much more than a convenient way to get from Point A to Point B. It’s a measuring stick, a billboard, a status symbol—you are what you drive—and no more so does this hold true than in Southern California and my adopted city of Malibu.

Because most residences are tucked behind walls, cars are calling cards in this town. A typical line up in the parking lot at the local supermarket will contain a Maserati, a Mazda, a Maybach and a Mini, and each one is designed to tell us something. Want to tell the world that you’re doing something important? Grab the Maserati. Want to convey that money’s no object? Fire up the Maybach. Want to say you’re sporty and cute (preferably in an English accent)? Hop in a Mini. Just there on a lunch break? Yup—the Mazda.

But those are obvious. The subtle messages many people try and get across through their vehicles are anything but subtle. I had someone tell me, in all earnestness, that he no longer places value on material things and, even though he has gobs of money, he drives a Prius with 160,000 miles on it. Am I supposed to leave that conversation with the impression that I have just met an incredibly wealthy guy, who is more than his wealth, as exemplified by his car (and also wants to save the world from atmospheric destruction)? Because that’s what I heard.

Strangely, the lowly Prius, the silent terror of parking lots, is amazingly abundant here. For those who want to go the extra green mile, both in terms of dollars and environment, the Tesla is the ticket. Are there those who genuinely need to save money on gas and who do care about emissions? Absolutely! But I get the feeling that the rest are driving the Prius’s, the Volts, the Teslas and, praise be God, the BMW i8 series, because they feel they should and that it sends just the right message.

I know I’m making some serious generalizations here, but cars are a big deal to Californians. I guess I’m used to the New England utilitarian side of things, where a Subaru is sexy in the snow and an old pick-up truck is the Leatherman of the road. Sure, cars are still status symbols back East, but necessity puts a serious dent in one’s ability to put a showy automotive foot forward—a Lamborghini in a snow bank is not met with the intended awe, but, rather, a dismissive shake of the head.

I learned a valuable lesson years ago, when I owned a horse farm: I used to quickly size up new clients by the cars they arrived in, until I made a colossal mistake. The man who quietly pulled up in his K car, complete with wood paneling, turned out to be one of the more “distinguished” people to grace our parking lot. So, I stopped judging people by the cars they drove (well, mostly).

But here in Southern California, people are begging me to quickly form an opinion based on their wheels. They want, no NEED, for me and everyone else to form an assessment of their characters, their bank accounts, their tastes and their politics based on the hunk of steel they’ve chosen. It’s strange. I am far more impressed by the guy who picks up a piece of trash on the way to his car or the woman who returns the cart for the mom juggling three kids.

Do I like nice cars? Yes, I absolutely do. I appreciate a car that handles like a dream, that’s responsive to the pedals, that warms my hind end on cold days, that loses its top on warm ones. I drive a VW EOS for those reasons. I’m not sure what it says about me, but I’m hoping it’s something like, “There goes a girl who loves adventure.” But, whom am I kidding? Out here, nobody is getting much past the CT plates…and I guess those speak volumes about me.

 

 

 

 

 

Last week in yoga class the instructor introduced this month’s mindfulness theme—she challenged us to greet everything with no opinion whatsoever. She didn’t even get the words out of her mouth before I had an opinion about her challenge not to have one.

Determined, I dismissed my initial opinion that there is NO WAY not to have an opinion, and opened myself up to the potential. She told us to try it out during our practice; to meet each pose with no opinion as to whether we could do it or not, whether it was painful or uncomfortable, and to just relax into it. This sounded like a solid plan and I relished the opportunity to open up my body to new possibilities by smashing the boundaries my opinions put on it.

The first 10 minutes were easy. As I stretched and limbered up, each time I felt a minor objection from a joint or a muscle, I gently reprimanded them for interrupting and moved on. When we moved into more challenging flow exercises, I continued to ignore my weak-minded limbs and gamely sweat it out with the rest of the group, doggedly erasing each thought that popped into my head, like, “My leg is about to fall off,” or “How does that bendy b*%ch in front of me DO that?”

By the end, though, I found myself in a full-on internal debate about whether the idea that it was hotter than balls in the studio was just my opinion or a straight-up fact. The pool of sweat surrounding me suggested fact.

After our savasana (the resting period), the instructor sent us out into the world, reminding us to try and greet everything without opinion; that true freedom can come from this practice. I almost made it to my car in this enlightened space when a Prius narrowly missed hitting me. Smugly, I chose not to have an opinion about this person’s lack of driving skills. On my short drive home I encountered more of these “road hazards” and felt fairly confident about labeling these observations as unmistakable facts rather than opinions.

I spent the rest of the day embroiled in an opinion-versus-fact debate and fell into bed exhausted, my mind still spinning. There were just too many indisputable facts surrounding me and I couldn’t figure out how I was supposed to find any peace and freedom in a world that ignores what is so painfully obvious to me.

I’ve realized since, as I’m sure you have by now, that my path to this particular enlightenment is going to be a lot tougher than I had anticipated. Opinions (read, judgments) often take the form of “fact” with me and I’ve got a long and humbling row to hoe to erase this thinking. I have promised myself (and I guess you now) that I can at least try and dial back my snap judgments and my opinions. My opinions, which have become my reality, are not fact, they are perception, and by blowing open some of my deep-seeded perceptions, my reality will broaden, which could be kind of fun. The more I can say, “Huh, Who knew?,” the more I’ll be able to open myself up to that freedom and joy my instructor speaks of, where things aren’t good or bad, they just are. And that’s a fact, Jack.

Entering a new cycle around the sun is a funny thing. There are so many expectations, promises, resolutions, good riddances…and parties. This year, however, the whole thing has taken a rather darker turn, at least in my circles. My social media is full of negativity about 2016, to the point where I believe 2016 will be happier to be rid of us than we are of it.

In the grand scheme of things, 2016 was not a tragic year for most, especially if you look at it through a wide lens. Undoubtedly, for some, it was the worst year ever, yet for others it was a period of great happiness. For everyone, though, it was just another year, chock full of things beyond our control, as well as those rare opportunities to triumph, or to fail miserably. I know that I have several items in both columns—instances where my actions did effect change, and not always for the better. I am not perfect. I have helped people and I have hurt people—and I cannot change that, but I will try and right my wrongs and do more where I am able to help. As for 2017, I am certain that I will continue to fail, and continue to succeed. The tricky part in this balance is avoiding the urge to sit in misery and complain or, conversely, to rest on my laurels.

There is a prayer I use often—The Serenity Prayer. In its shorter version, it reads:

Every time I am faced with a decision, a conflict, an upheaval, an opportunity, I whisper this mantra and try and figure out what, if anything, I can, and should, do. Often, there isn’t much. And I don’t believe inaction is a cop-out—it’s simply reality and the acceptance that I have no more power over other people and circumstances than I do the forward marching of time. When I do act, I try to do so according to my beliefs and then I let go of the results—I have no control over those. I’ve found that railing against an unintended outcome just leaves me uselessly pissed off. But there are those things I can control, where my efforts are far better rewarded. I am better served, and can serve better, when I ask myself, “OK, there’s nothing I can do about that, so what can I do?”

For me, this year has seen an awful lot, both good and bad, much like any other year. What I am certain of is that today I will try and eat something healthy, as well as something unhealthy, do a little exercise, help a friend get out of a slump, pick up a piece of litter and go to the movies. It’s not exactly earth-shattering, revolutionary stuff, but it’s a full day. I’ll likely do much the same thing tomorrow.

Happy New Year!