Hands-Free Driving

Washington State has a hands-free, cell phone driving law. Near as I understand it, we can be ticketed for driving with our hands while on the phone. You see, it is better to be “safe than sorry,” so I was already doing this for some time. My Mom also has used a hands-free device while driving for years as well, and she’s my example. It is definitely more impactful to have both hands available to emphasize her conversational points, without the distraction of a steering wheel or a cellular device.

We are a gesturing-when-speaking family, and I’ll admit, it can be life-threatening. There was the time my brother gestured with jam upon a spoon and my photo on the wall wore it thereafter, as if to underline the gravity of a moment’s elocution. I’m also reminded of the occasion whereupon I was speaking before a sizeable and genteel audience and I smoothly used my hands to cleanse the audience with a generous sprinkling from my glass of water. But the worst—has got to be hands-free driving.

I’d like to say that I don’t really notice it until we are swerving off the road or into the other lane, unless one of the children starts screaming from the backseat. You see, my sister doesn’t like it when a parent doesn’t use their hands on the steering wheel: it impacts her childhood trust and relational development. I’d like to think I’ve gotten used to it, but my family would comment under this post with non-affirming remarks.

I have a problem. It is called “gasping.” It’s when you suck in air really fast right before you die. I prepare for that moment frequently, as all good girls should. And I have moments where with all the air I rapidly intake it sounds like I’m about to sing extremely loudly. I wouldn’t if I could help it. Soft singing is nicer, at least inside of a metal deathtrap careening down the highway.

As a small child I used to wake startled from dreams; the same dream, actually. I’d pull the covers over my head until I couldn’t breathe and then I’d come out again, practice my gasp, and dive back under. It was that bad. It was that dream where you’re riding in the back seat and all of a sudden your Mom isn’t driving, nobody’s driving, or a gorilla is driving. You’re flying down the highway and its dark outside and you know you’re going way too fast because the streetlights are whizzing by tall, overbearing, golden-orange. This may or may not have been caused by my real-life experiences.

Some say to “follow your heart,” but I tend to disagree—if you’re driving. My dad loves the countryside…and driving through it. Yes, through it. “Oh look! We should get that perfect firewood! Oh my, did you see those red berries? My, what a steep cliff…” he exclaims, his heart obviously torn between using the road to get to church and going in for a closer look, off the beaten path. Country air is very nice, even by the gaspful.

Once, it was icy. My best friend was driving and knows ice is for her drinks. We started sliding down a steep hill towards a bridge over a stream and she suddenly felt it was a good time to drive hands-free. I knew she was just like family; it just took one of those intense moments to bring it out. She grabbed me, her passenger, with both hands and commenced loud screaming. I commenced equally loud screaming, but more precisely. I used terms such as, “Grab the steering wheel! Pump the brake! Steer towards the slide! Let go of my hair! That’s my nose!” It didn’t work, so I steered across her lap, swerved across the stream, and slid over to the curb. For the record, I forgot to gasp.

But I do love to drive—a bit too much. The musicality of the movement, the rhythm of the road, the feeling of virtuosity one feels from navigating speed times distance with finesse. A policeman taught me that. Oh no, not how you’re thinking. It wasn’t via high-speed chase. I was driving a VW with an officer by my side. He leaned in close and said, “Hey, I’ll teach you something cool if you promise not to tell anyone.” I must have smiled or something, because he taught me something cool and I didn’t promise. And we drove…fast, biting the corners off like heaven has free passes for lightning bolts.

Actually, that was the same officer who taught me how to escape from a spin. He told me if I’m ever being chased by cops or robbers that they may try to slow me down by smashing me into a wild spin that will destroy an unskillfully handled transmission. I am now equipped. Spin me.

I am learning, though, to refrain from commentary on my drivers’ status, skills, and stunts frequently obnoxiously labeled “backseat driving.” It started with a vow I made in a foreign van in a foreign country with a foreign driver at the age of fifteen. After that harrowing experience, I promised never to complain about my father’s driving again. And, technically, I have religiously kept that vow. I just gasp unintentionally and some people take it personally (doubtless as their conscience smites them). And I insist I am getting better about asking what shade of green the driver wants.

So, why so much pointless imagery of me gesturing, gasping, speeding, and spinning you ask? Because, I started out thinking about “letting go.” I started thinking about what happens when we don’t drive when we are the driver. I was also pondering the peace that I get from just trusting whoever is driving and letting them do their thing, knowing I’ve got a time-clock ticking for this earth anyway. I realized how encouraged others are when we believe in them, even for a thing as simple as driving. It struck me that when I try to take control from the One responsible, things get worse: relationally and physically. I was also thinking that I have so much to learn. I was beginning to grasp how much our little actions affect others. I was reminded about the clarity of a child’s memory.  I felt a keen desire to not be controlling. And then I thought it would be good to mention to everyone to be careful out there…There are a lot of people driving hands-free.