One Tale of Balance

I've often wondered how different I might be today if I had been raised by parents who embraced Taoist principles. My upbringing probably was very similar to many other liberal-minded Americans. I was raised in a Christian home and long-standing American principles like success, competition and rugged individualism were bedrocks.

However, after contemplating the thesis of this post a little more, it started to dawn on me that a lot of the influence of my mother was, in fact, Taoist. I'm certain -- were she still alive -- that she wouldn't frame her perspective in this manner, but the similarities are striking. One of the key points she repeated over and over again concerned the concept of balance and harmony.

Like most teenagers, I tended to roll my eyes when my mom would launch into one of her soliloquies. There she goes again, I thought. What does this have to do with anything that's important to me and my life?

But her constant harping on balance/harmony came into sharp focus one day during my nineteenth year and I realized that my dear mother had provided me not only with a wonderful gift but a concept to live by in the future.

Unlike most of my contemporaries, I didn't rush down to obtain my driver's license on my 16th birthday. In fact, I didn't attempt to get it during any of my years in high school or my first year in college. At the time, I was a cycling enthusiast and a driver's license just wasn't that important.

My thinking on this topic began to change after my senior prom. Because I possessed neither a vehicle nor a driver's license, the only prudent way to transport my girlfriend and I to the festivities was via the double date. While I found a friend who was willing to accommodate this desire, it slowly dawned on me that dating and cycling didn't often jibe.

So, between the summer of my freshman and sophomore years of college, I decided it was time to bite the bullet. My divorced father was assigned the task of teaching his eldest son how to drive. My parents both agreed that it would be advantageous to instruct me in how to operate both automatic and manual transmissions since the car I predominantly would use featured the latter.

Well, I got the automatic down rather easily, but, when it came to operation of a clutch, I seemed wholly inept. Every time I shifted gears the car would lurch forward or stall. My father -- who does not have the temperament to be an effective teacher -- was beside himself because, session after session, I simply couldn't master the clutch.

Needless to say, I was really frustrated too. I was beginning to think I would forever be a cyclist only. After one really awful driving session, my dad dropped me off at home and I went into the living room to sulk. When my mother found me there and ascertained the impetus for my displeasure, she went into one of her typical monologues about balance and harmony.

"Son, " she said, "you need to think of the clutch pedal and the accelerator pedal as a relationship. It involves a lot of give and take. When one is pushed in, the other is let out. When the other is pushed in, the first one is let out. What you need to find is a balance between the two without consciously thinking about it. It's something you can can master more by feel than thought."

Blah, blah, blah blah.

But you know, she was right. It took some convincing, but I finally got my dad to agree to take me out on another driving session. He tried to look chipper, but anyone could tell he was steeling himself for another exercise in frustration. As we moved away from the curb, I easily transitioned from first to second gear. For the next hour or so, I drove with the clutch like I had been using one my whole life. Soon after, I received my license on the first try and I have been driving vehicles with manual transmission ever since.

All it took to transform me from someone who couldn't operate a clutch to someone who had no problem with it whatsoever were two Taoist concepts: wu wei (doing without conscious thought) and balance/harmony.