The Zen Taxi Driver

Hey! Remember me? You know… tall, slim, agile like a cat,  long flowing locks, piercing blue eyes, cute little nose, youthful. Quiet. Shy.

Deluded.

Yep, now yer got it.

Well Groovers, it’s been a week since I sat at this computer and had access to an internet service that doesn’t die in the arse every four minutes. Bliss. I hope I remember how to blog. I’ll do my best. I also hope you enjoyed your weekend and found a reason to laugh, be child-like and lose the serious face for a while. Life is as hard as we make it; so let’s make it fun.

As you know, I spent last week in beautiful Noosa (Queensland) and when I wasn’t eating, reading, struggling with the internet, attending my buddy’s wedding or walking in the national park, I was hanging out with some cool people. And while I met and mingled with some very clever and stimulating folk on my trip (mostly people attending the wedding), the coolest person I met would probably go un-noticed by many people. I met him thirty seconds after I exited the airport terminal and he was my fifty-seven year old taxi driver, Greg.

Greg the taxi driver was gold.

Kind of like Eckhart Tolle with a taxi license. And a surfboard. Who drinks beer with his mates at the surf club.

Okay, not like Eckhart at all.

Part of what makes Greg the taxi driver so appealing to me is that he has no idea how cool he is. Seriously, people in Queensland could save themselves thousands of dollars in therapy, counseling and mentoring fees by simply taking a weekly cab ride with Greg. To say he is somewhat laid-back is akin to saying that the beach at Noosa is somewhat sandy.

I’m not sure how many cab rides I’ve had in my life but I am sure that I’ve never had a friendly, smiling driver shake my hand and introduce himself as he puts my bags in the car. And no, I’m not talking about some limo driver who’s expected to turn on the charm, I’m talking about a random cabbie from the airport. I’ve never really been aware of ‘energy’ in a car before, but the energy in that cab was almost palpable. It was a calm kind of energy. And happy. Can a car be a happy place? Apparently it can. Did I mention it was clean? And it smelled like one of my all-time favourite smells; vanilla. I complimented Greg on the state of his pristine car and he informed that there is no excuse for a dirty cab. “Why would I want to work in a dirty office and why would I expect you to enjoy sitting in filth for half an hour and then give me money for the experience?” he asked rhetorically.

I liked him already.

Here’s a snapshot of my thirty minute trip with Greg the cabbie (as best I can remember):

G. “So, are you up here for pleasure or business?”
C. “Pleasure; a friend’s wedding.”
G. (turns and looks at me) “Not yours?”
C. “Don’t be stupid.”
(laughter)
G. “You’re not married then?”
C. “No, you?”
G. “I’m married to her.”
(points out the window at the ocean)
C. “Her?”
G. “I’m an old surfer, I’ve been having an affair with the sea since I was ten years old.”
C. “Has she been a good wife?”
G. “The best; faithful, exciting, unpredictable and she never stops giving me joy.”
C. “Okay, now I want a surf board.”
G. (looks me up and down) “It would need to be a big f**ker.”
(laughter).
C. “I think I’m offended.”
(more laughs)
C. “How often do you drive your cab?”
G. “I drive three days a week for twelve hours a shift and that gives me enough time to surf, work in my garden, have a few beers with the boys at the surf club and walk in the national park most days.”
C. “Sounds like a tough existence.”
G. “Torture.”
(winks at me)
C. “Do you enjoy the driving or just tolerate it?”
G. “I mostly love it. I get to meet interesting people and have great conversations. I enjoy the interaction; it keeps my mind ticking over. It’s important to keep your mind stimulated and active as you get older.”
C. “I’ve heard that…  so where does all the optimism and happiness come from?”
G. (puts his whole arm out the open window this time) ”Mate, take a look around, I live in f**ckin’ paradise, why wouldn’t I be happy?”
C. “Good point. Stupid question Craig.”
(laughs)

I glance over at him and he appears to be genuinely content, comfortable in his own skin and at peace with the world. He’s not an over-thinker. I can tell. He may have been once, but he’s not now. I can tell he’s not trying to impress me, he’s just speaking honestly and from the heart. Although he’s ‘blokey’, he’s not your typical bloke and while he speaks with confidence and a level of authority, I detect zero ego, arrogance or insecurity; which makes him even more interesting to me. His manner and words are both enlightening and refreshing. I am engaged and fully invested in what he has to say. He has wisdom, insight and a different kind of intelligence. One I like to be around. It seems that his personal philosophy (although he would never call it that) comes from life lessons learned, not books read. His understanding of life is indeed experiential, not theoretical.

He’s about my height (five foot ten), is as tanned as I am white and I feel very ‘city’ sitting next to him; kind of like a set of traffic lights on a lonely dirt road. I don’t know how I know, but I just know that he’s never read a personal development book in his life. He doesn’t need to. He has a few more laugh lines than me, his hands are leathery and sun-spotted, his shoulders are wide from years of paddling boards, his forearms are lean and muscular, his posture is uncharacteristically good for a cabbie and I can’t help but notice the absence of a gut. A fit, healthy cab driver; who’da thunk it?

He continues…

G. “Misery doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t really understand people who make life harder than it needs to be.”
C. “Amen to that Brother Greg. So where does the laid back nature and Zen life philosophy come from?”
G. “I have a Zen life philosophy?”
C. “Let’s just say there ain’t too many cab drivers like you.”
G. “I guess part of the answer stems from where I live (talking about his physical environment) and the other part is that I just don’t allow myself to wallow in self pity.”
C. “So in a way, you choose to be happy?”
(thinks for a few seconds)
G. “Kind of, but I think it’s more that I choose not to be unhappy. When I feel myself heading down that road (the unhappy road), I close my eyes for a minute, think about all the good stuff in my life and I’m cured.”
C. “So how long will you surf for?”
G. “Until I can’t.”
C. “Good plan.”
G. “To be honest, I’ve never thought about not surfing.”
(of course he hasn’t)
C. “What do you love about it?”
G. “For me the ocean has always been the anti-dote for pretty much everything and it has never let me down. Like everyone, I’ve had my challenges over the years but the waves have always made me happy.”
C. “How?”
G. “Well, I’m not a religious person at all, but for me, there’s something spiritual about the sea. I don’t really understand it but I don’t think I need to (so smart). I don’t know that it would make sense to everyone, but I believe there’s healing to be found in the ocean. In fact, in all of nature. (Although I didn’t ask, I believe he was talking about healing on every level; physical, emotional and psychological and spiritual.)
C. “Yep, it’s a pity we’ve allowed ourselves to become so disconnected from nature.”
G. “Yep.”

For a moment we sit in silence and I ponder what Noosa’s version of Friedrich Nietzsche is teaching me. For the rest of the journey the old surfer and I wax lyrical about a wide range of subject matter and I do my best not to interrupt his flow. It’s truly amazing what and who we can find, and what we can learn, when we take off the blinkers, pull out the ear plugs and open our hearts and minds to the potential, possibilities and people that the day (God, Universe – whatever fits your belief system) brings into our orbit. So often the greatest lessons, gifts and opportunities are right under our noses. I wonder how many people have ridden with Greg and missed out on something special because they assumed he was just a taxi driver?

All too soon we pulled up to the apartment complex where I was staying and the cab fare on the meter read sixty four dollars.

G. “Just make it sixty Champ.”

Of course he would say that. In all my travels I’ve never had a taxi driver offer to round the fare down. Ever. You?

C. “Now Greg, how are you gonna add to your board collection if you’re giving strangers discounts?”
G. “I’ve got plenty of boards and enough money, all I need is a decent swell each day.”
C. (I handed him two fifties) “Here ya go Mate, thanks for the best cab ride ever.”

For a minute he doesn’t realise I’m giving him a forty dollar tip. Then he does.

G. “Naaah, no f**ckin’ way (in a broad Aussie accent), you’re not f**kin’ doing that.”
C. “I’m giving you sixty for the taxi ride, forty for the life lesson and I’m the one who’s getting the great deal.”
G. “Ya prick.”

I smile. Only an Aussie bloke can use the word prick as a term of endearment. I felt a bit spesh.

G. “Alright then, when you leave I’m taking you back to the airport for nuthin’.”
C. “No you’re not.”

As the part-time driver, part-time surfer and part-time philosopher headed off down the road, my overwhelming emotion was that of gratitude. Without knowing or trying, Greg had taught me, challenged me, inspired me and made my day. You see, sometimes a driver is a teacher and car is a classroom. If we let it be.

I hope that when your ‘Greg’ crosses your path you’re not too busy, distracted or self-focused to pay attention and learn something.

Peace out Grasshoppers  xx

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