One of the things I miss most about life before the coronavirus lock-down is my commute.
Don’t laugh. I have had a lot of good, creative ideas while car thinking.
In case you are unfamiliar with car thinking, it’s a state of mind that happens when you focus half your brain on the road while the other half is free to roam where it will. Admittedly, it works better on the highway. City driving requires a lot more attention with its lights, stop signs, and pedestrians than a few hundred miles stretched out before you on one road. On most of my trips, I can choose one lane for 90% of the way and let half my brain just zone out. During the hours on the road I think about where I want my blog to go, what my next move should be in my day job, and other big topics. Sometimes I try new ideas out loud for presentations, upcoming phone calls, even the things I want to talk about in therapy.
Along with everyone else these days, I don’t drive very much. I filled my tank for the first time in two months the other day. So that outlet is lost to me.
Lots of people have great thoughts in the shower, but shower thinking is not the same. Showers are too short. My shortest commute was about a half hour, and I don’t think my building would like it if my water consumption quadrupled to accommodate my need to think. My back muscles might appreciate it, but no.
This weekend, after I came back from a walk, instead of flipping on the TV, I headed out to my balcony. It was one of those days where it was supposed to rain but turned out sunny. For a while I stared out in the direction of the city, watching a couple of birds swooping around and a couple of bees waiting for me to leave so they could feast on my balcony flowers. Then I leaned back and looked up.
The clouds were fluffy and close that high up. And the bottoms were gray since it was supposed to rain. From my perspective about 20 floors up I could see both the gray part and the white fluff above. I thought how different it must look from the ground.
I watched those clouds for a long time. They moved slowly, sometimes breaking apart, sometimes combining with more white fluff. It was just after noon so the sun was right above me, too. If I put on my sunglasses, I could look right at it for a few seconds, but most of the time I could tell where it was because of how the light filtered through the clouds. It was pretty. And it didn’t make me think of anything else. I zoned out watching those clouds go by.
I don’t know yet if cloud thinking will be a good substitute for car thinking. I won’t be able to sing to the radio at the top of my lungs. Other people could hear me and that wouldn’t be good. You can only do it on days when it’s not too hot or too cold. (I don’t think watching clouds from inside would be the same.) And of course, you need clouds. But it has potential.