In Praise of One-Car-Only Bridges

I recently heard Michael Schuler speak--he's a minister in Madison, WI and the author of "Making the Good Life Last: Four Keys to Sustainable Living." One of those four keys calls on us to "exercise patience." Dr. Schuler talked about all the times in life when we get the chance to exercise patience, to practice our "patience muscle," as he put it.

It made me think of a moment just a few weeks ago, when I was driving through Howard County to visit a colleague. My GPS had taken me on a strange route, through back roads and along a number of twists and turns. As I rounded a curve, I saw the speed limit: 30 mph. Only 30! I could feel the frustration mounting--why wasn't I on route 29, zipping along at a nice normal 55? But suddenly I remember that I was in no rush, had no deadlines. It took a conscious effort to slow down the speed not just of my car but of my body, to relax back into the drive. I could actually feel my heart rate begin to drop, my breathing calm. This was nice, I realized. This was just...driving.

And so that was my mood when I came to the little bridge with only enough room for one car to pass. I actually go over a bridge like this every, taking my daughter to daycare--but then I'm usually intent on reaching my destination quickly. I always stop appropriately, of course, but I'm looking across to see if there's a car waiting, craning my neck to make sure it's safe, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel while I wait for the car to cross. This time, on this bridge, I just stopped, enjoying the view while the car coming toward me passed over. And as the woman driving went past me, she gave me a big, wide smile. A moment of instant connection, of gratitude for safe driving, of recognition that we aren't just 1-ton steel machines but people driving those machines.

These days, when I go over that other one-car-only bridge on the way to daycare, I try to remember the bridge in Howard County, the bridge on the day when I wasn't rushing, the bridge on the day when I felt calm and peaceful. I try to remember the bridge on the day I exercised patience. I slow down the drumming of my fingers, I take a breath, and I wait.

Love the whole wide world...

I took a walk with my toddler this morning, which included a stop at a playground where we saw a baby in his stroller. We didn't have a chance to really meet the baby--just waved across the mulch on our way back from the slide--but as we left my daughter waved goodbye and called out "Bye bye baby! We love you!"

My daughter is telling everyone she loves them these days: babies we hardly know, fish at the pond we visited, our new porch furniture. As we left the playground, I almost started a conversation with her about who we say I love you to, and the possibility that the baby-whose-name-we-don't-know might not qualify.

And then I thought...wait a second! I'm going to teach my daughter about how to appropriately circumscribe love? How to keep love within conventional boundaries, how to maintain our usual social structures so that love doesn't grow too wildly in the world?

What if we all had that toddler impulse--what if we all loved a little too wildly? Today, I'm thinking about how I can love as broadly as possible. Not just how I can show respect, or behave with tolerance, but how I can love.

And so on the 40th anniversary of Earth Day: I love you, world.