Why I can’t wait for the new Hand-Held Wireless Telephone: Prohibited Use – Vehicle Code 23123 to go into effect. — Diana Winston

I know, you are annoyed about it. It is annoying. Rather than being able to talk on our phone wherever and whenever we want, Californians are about to be limited. In America this is happening? Limitations? Impossible.

No longer will we be able, when stuck in traffic, to spontaneously dial our friends and discuss such important issues as the merits of Angelina Jolie’s latest adoption. Well sure, we can do it with blue tooth, but who likes blue tooth? Mine always clicks off and I still don’t know how to set it up. And a headset? Isn’t that so 1990’s?

But I’m delighted. And not only because I’m not the world’s best driver and this will certainly improve my not always spectacular driving. Multi-tasking and driving really don’t mix. Although I’m also thrilled to know all the other LA drivers will finally start to pay a little more attention, it’s not my only reason for rejoicing.

I can’t wait for the Hand-Held Wireless Telephone Prohibition Code 23123 to go to into effect for this reason: because my mindfulness has been seriously at risk thanks to using my cell phone in my car.

Before cell phones, driving was a mindfulness arena that never got tiresome. It was my morning meditation site on some days when I didn’t get a chance to do my daily sitting. It was one of the greatest places to center and calm myself. It was in the car that I learned my best lessons on how to work with anger.

Driving alone, even short distances used to prove to be the best time for awareness practice. I would feel my breathing, able to concentrate whether I needed to be focused or broadly alert. I would connect my attention to my body, feeling my back against the seat, my hands on the wheel. The bodily awareness would soothe me in the worst of traffic. I would sometimes do a broader awareness practice, noticing the multitude of sights and sounds and my own thoughts passing by, still functioning normally but aware amidst it all.

And when things got hairy, when that jerk in the blue SUV refused to let me in, or someone honked at me when I completely didn’t deserve it, I got to practice mindfulness of anger, annoyance, fear and rage. I learned to check into my belly when I was angry, letting myself feel the anger without getting caught in it. I learned to calm anger through my breathing, and when to antidote it with loving kindness and compassion. When someone got my parking space instead of me, I got to practice appreciative joy (okay, commingled with other emotions).

Well that all changed when I started talking on my cell phone in the car. I can’t remember when it happened. At first I was pretty disciplined and refused to talk on it, valuing my meditation time more than my easy access to distraction.

But then I tried it a few times, and a few more times, and after a while, I was hooked. Cell phones could break it up when it got boring, entertain, pass the time, and boy, it took a lot less effort than practicing mindfulness. I could get work done in the car on the way to work. I felt so productive, so modern.

Sure it affected my day, but an addiction is an addiction, I didn’t really care. I wanted my freedom to talk when I could. Sometimes I wouldn’t bring it with me and practice mindfulness; other times I’d notice an immediate rush to turn on the radio as if I couldn’t tolerate being by myself anymore.

So you see, in spite of being a mindfulness teacher, I found it more pleasant to practice distracting myself, and it would have gone on that way if it were not for the legislature of California.

Now I’m going to be forced to put on the damn headset, which I hate, or just not talk on the phone in the car. Yes, I can recoup my meditation time. That’s an idea! I now will be forced to practice peace, ease, awareness of my emotions, and compassion. I guarantee it will be healthier for me and my road-mates.

That’s why I can’t wait for the law to go into effect. I like to think of it this way: California legislating mindfulness.