blinking while driving

Squirrels may run up to 20 miles an hour, but it’s not always fast enough. 

As a kid in our family station wagon, I’d shut my eyes and silently send goodwill to each squirrel that didn’t make it across the road. I don’t know when that started—it just did. A quiet reflex: see the creature, close my eyes, bless. Closing my eyes feels a lot more dangerous now that I’m the one driving instead of sitting in the back seat. I’m not closing them anymore—just blinking. Blinking while driving. 

Metta is a practice for sending love and compassion to all sentient beings. Like squirrels, like you and me. Metta is a Pali word meaning loving-kindness and is a teaching dating back to the 5th century. When I was first introduced to loving-kindness practice, it felt strangely familiar—almost natural. At least, it did when I was sending love and compassion to beings I already felt close to. Extending those same feelings toward more troublesome beings, though, didn’t come as naturally. I’m still working on that part. 

But I am noticing a gentle shift from fixing to feeling. When our children come to share their worries or struggles, I still feel that maternal pull to offer solutions—but I’m less inclined to act on it. Metta practice has helped me rest in a softer, more spacious place. Instead of projecting my own concerns onto them, I can simply be present—listening fully, without adding, fixing, or taking anything away. I can practice Metta right on the spot. 

Metta invites us to return to the openness of the heart and in doing so, cut through the illusion of our separateness. We may experience more positive feelings such as gratitude, empathy, and compassion. For squirrels, for each other. We connect with a shared tenderness that exists in even the smallest of moments. Even while blinking and driving.