“You see things vacationing on a motorcycle in a way that is completely different from any other. In a car you're always in a compartment, and because you're used to it you don't realize that through that car window everything you see is just more TV. You're a passive observer, and it is all moving by you boringly in a frame."
"On a cycle the frame is gone. You're completely in contact with it all. You're in the scene, not just watching it anymore, and the sense of presence is overwhelming."
Robert Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
One of my favorite things to do in Saigon is go for a drive. No time limit set. Nowhere to be. Nowhere to go. Just get on your bike and wander. In those moments, it’s not exactly the most productive thing to do. I could be at home working. I could be at a cafe working. I could be at work working. I could be doing all sorts of productive work things. Yet, I feel as though wandering around for an hour or two is sometimes the most productive work thing one can do.
In his novel, Pirsig speaks of the difference between being on a motorcycle vs being in a car in terms of the frame in which you are observing your surroundings. Such a frame extends beyond the type of transportation you are using.
Day to day, we often see life through the same frame. Again and again and again. We follow the same routines. We talk to the same people. We go to the same places. We make the same right turn every day on the way to work. We make the same left turn every day on the way back home. We think about the same problems through the same frame. We think about the same solutions through the same frame. It’s as though you’re passively watching the same channel on the same TV. Again and again and again.
But as Pirsig says, on a bike that frame is gone. Obliterated. Destroyed. Kaput. Now you’re in the action. Now you’re tuned in. Now you’re here. Present.. Finally! It is in fact overwhelming.
I think we follow the same routines, talk to the same people, go to the same places, make the same right and left turns, and mull over the same problems again and again and again because being present is a lot. It can be truly overwhelming at times. That’s why it’s so good to break out the frame, your frame. It’s good for the body. It’s good for the mind. It’s good for the soul. Preferably a long drive when the sun isn’t beating down on you ruthlessly.
Going for a drive can be a form of meditation. It’s one of my favorite forms of meditation. After all, meditation can take place any time, anywhere, and in any form. Sitting, eating, walking, mowing lawns, washing dishes, peeling tangerines, or driving aimlessly. Driving, not arriving. Not trying to. Just driving. Driving for the sake of driving.
In his book, Peace is Every Step, the Vietnamese Zen Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, talks about the temptation of wanting to leave the city for the countryside to find peace. To get away from it all. To close the windows such that nothing external troubles our spirit. “But sometimes we cannot leave the city,” Hanh writes, “and we have to find the refreshing and peaceful elements that can heal us right in the midst of our busy lives.” We must nourish our awareness at each moment and recognize the elements of peace available to us anytime, anywhere, and in any form. “Everything we do is an act of poetry or a painting if we do it with mindfulness” Thanh writes, “Growing lettuce is poetry. Walking to the supermarket can be a painting. When we do not trouble ourselves about whether or not something is a work of art, if we just act in each moment with composure and mindfulness, each minute of our life is a work of art.” A drive around the city can be a type of poetry, a kind of painting, a form of meditation.
The important part to remember is that going for a drive in all its beauty is not an escape from life, rather, it is an act of escaping to life. It’s about enjoying the ride. Relishing the sight of the downtown skyline. Taking in all walks of life on every street corner. Noticing the intricacies of the people you see. Being in contact with it all. Each scene you’re in is a painting. Each right turn, left turn, turn around, and roundabout is a line of poetry. Revving the engine, changing gears, pressing down on the break, are all musical notes rendered by the stroke of a paintbrush. Pirsig was right: “Sometimes it's a little better to travel than to arrive.”
