On the Golden Gate Bridge

Image credit: Photo by serdir (at home) on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons

I suspect crossing the Golden Gate Bridge must get tiresome for the folks who commute across it each day -- the traffic, the fog, the monotony of routine -- but I am not one of those people. I was in the San Francisco area just for the weekend, a long-awaited vacation that was a gift from my husband and some other loved ones. I spent two glorious days relaxing on Point Reyes and one participating in a daylong session on Buddhism and the Twelve Steps with Kevin Griffin at the Spirit Rock meditation center. During my trip, I had to cross the Golden Gate Bridge twice -- once as I headed from the airport to my destination north of San Francisco and once on my return -- and each time it was exhilarating.

In all that was wonderful about the trip, I think driving across that bridge may have been my favorite part: the view, the wind, the adrenaline rush of being suspended over the mouth of the ocean far below, the way the transition from vibrant city to quiet hills marked my own transition with "Now you are really leaving the bustle of life behind to begin a vacation" and "Now you are really coming back to the rushing flow of your life."

During the time I was in meditation at Spirit Rock, a fear came up that often arises for me, especially in travel: the fear of not knowing what I'm doing, of making mistakes. My thoughts were seemingly endless stream of: "Am I in the right place? Am I supposed to be using those cushions? Am I doing this meditation right? Did I say something thoughtless or inaccurate during that group exercise? I've never done a walking meditation like this and I've never been here. Am I walking someplace I'm not supposed to? Am I getting in that guy's way?" In fact, these thoughts came up so often that, at the end of the day when Kevin Griffin asked us to contemplate what "persistent visitors" had been present in our thoughts that day and to set an intention to address them, mine was around the fear of making mistakes. "Just for today," I vowed, "I will let go of my need to do everything perfectly."

And I almost immediately got a chance to practice it. Imperfectly. On the Golden Gate Bridge.

That day at Spirit Rock was the last day of my vacation, and I was running low on cash. I had brought what I thought was an adequate amount with me, but ran into a few situations where I couldn't use a credit or debit card. Then I had a series of adventures with small town ATM machines being out of order. The end result was that I had very little left to use as a donation to the teacher. (Kevin, you were awesome, and I didn't give you enough. Note to self: next time bring your checkbook. Also, find a way to give Kevin Griffin an extra donation.)

When I crossed the Golden Gate Bridge on my trip north to Point Reyes, there hadn't been a toll, although I had passed through some out of service toll booths. I wasn't sure if there was a toll going back in the other direction, but just to be cautious, I held on to $2, knowing I had enough in change to make $5 and thinking that would be plenty. I gave the rest of what I had as my donation. Then I drove south.

I emerged from the tunnel north of San Francisco to the spectacular sight of the Golden Gate Bridge red against the white city skyline ahead of me. I drove across, thrilled both at being there and at the thought of heading home to my family. But as I neared the end of the bridge, I saw the toll booths ahead. Open and in operation. Toll: $6. Crap. I hoped I had enough change to make up the difference, so I dumped my purse onto my lap and started fishing for coins. I reached the booth before I finished counting and handed the toll booth attendant a collection of change, which he painstakingly counted out as the line grew behind me. The final count still had me 19 cents short of the $6 toll. And that (during the third pass through my purse) was when I found a twenty dollar bill wedged between some old business cards and a Target gift card. Whew! I handed it to the toll collector, who (clearly annoyed at the entire situation) said, "You should have given this to me in the first place!"

To which I snapped, tingling with anxiety and defensiveness, "Well, if I had known I had it, I would have!" Oops. That would be me. Not being perfect. And not being mindful. Imperfectly handling not being perfect.

I realized only afterwards why I'm so afraid of mistakes when traveling. When I was growing up, I learned that tourists were prey. If you looked like you didn't know what you were doing, if you admitted you were new or unfamiliar with things, if you did things differently or asked questions, if you got lost and ended up in the wrong place, if you made mistakes, if you were less than completely prepared or completely perfect, at best you would be mocked or taken advantage of, but at worst you could be robbed or raped or murdered. I always assumed that I "just" didn't want to appear stupid to people, but when I snapped at the toll collector I saw my reaction coming from a place of deepest fear, out of proportion to the situation. We all, every single one of us, make mistakes sometimes, are unprepared sometimes, don't know what we're doing sometimes. But admitting that, showing that, having that exposed in myself can feel to me like being the one gazelle walking with a slight limp past the lions.

In the past, the only lesson I would have taken from this would be to learn the one small skill that many of those around me had mastered: how to correctly pay that toll. But what I can see I need to learn in addition is to release my fear of being someplace new, of not knowing everything, of making mistakes. Making sure I have correct change for the toll will certainly help me on specific bridges and highways, but letting go of fear will help me (and the toll collectors I won't be snapping at) wherever I go.