Cruising and Choosing
While cruising through the middle of nowhere on western Oklahoma’s stretch of I-40, my Toyota minivan’s “check engine” light came on. I exited the interstate immediately, although there was nothing on the horizon in any direction. Oh, wait! A Ford dealer—the sole sign of civilization in a veritable desert.
I went into the showroom and explained my dilemma to the gentleman selling new cars. He kindly directed me to the mechanics in the back—who stopped what they were doing, and took my car into the garage, lickety-split. Thirty minutes later came the verdict: Nothing appears to be wrong. It’s fine to get back on the road, but when you get where you’re going, take the car to a Toyota dealer to have it checked out.
What do I owe you?
No charge.
I would have paid any price! I was at their mercy, hundreds of miles from anywhere. But there was no bill. Just well wishes for safe travels.
So, back in Arkansas, I took the van to the Toyota dealer. And while I sat in the waiting room, I had a delightful time talking to a gentleman who proclaimed to be in his 90s—although he appeared much younger. I think it was his attitude that kept him youthful.
He’d been on the road to the Springfield airport to collect relatives who’d be landing in an hour. But his dashboard suddenly told him there was a problem with the oil. He drove straight to the Toyota dealer where he learned the oil pan had a hole in it, and a new one could not be had for 24 hours.
The gentleman had no alternate wheels, could not call his relatives until their plane landed, and wasn’t even sure how he’d get home. But he was absolutely calm. Cheerful even. Actually, contagiously sunny.
We talked for an hour. He declared happiness to be a choice. And likewise, we choose whether or not to get along with others. I could find no fault with his philosophy. In a situation where most people would have been fretful, he was smiling.
We talked about Alaska, oceans, the aurora borealis, great gas mileage on hybrid cars, having been married to a loving partner for years, rural living, and how the quality of life changes as you get older: We must be more careful (he got rid of his motorcycle), but that doesn’t mean the quality of life declines. It’s just different. And apparently we both choose to be happy, despite being elderly and widowed.
But this morning I woke up cold—my furnace on the fritz. Heat comes on sporadically, but not on demand. I was flustered. Forgetting to choose happiness. But mere hours later the furnace fixer is at my house. Friendly. Smiling. And he tells me my furnace looks to be in good shape except for one small part, which he will order.
He could have told me anything. I am ignorant of the inner workings of a propane furnace. But, like the Oklahoma car guys, he’s a decent human being.
Lately I haven’t been reading much news past the headlines, and don’t listen to public radio relentlessly, as has long been my habit. I think I’ve been supremely aggrieved by the state of politics in our country. I’m enjoying the humanity of individuals rather than enduring the hate mongering that has become the modus operandi of some folks on the campaign trail. Maybe we should all get our heads out of the news cycle and just talk to real people. Perhaps then we’d be better able to choose to be happy.