Learning to Drive at 35
Shifting Gears in Life
All my life I had anxiety and I didn’t know it.
Anxiety is the jelly-legs-feeling for the first two weeks of school. Anxiety is always being prepared for any situation whenever I go out. Anxiety is talking, talking, talking, talking, talking, then overanalyzing and replaying in my head all the wrong things I might have said. Sometimes anxiety is not talking at all.
Part of my anxiety is always playing it safe, which brings us to today’s story of why it took until I was 35 to get my driving license.
When I was 16, I got my permit. It’s very easy to pass the written exam. Over the years, I passed the test another four times.
I did Driver’s Ed. in school. It was such a waste of my time. I spent the majority of it in study hall. When my turn came to drive the car for thirty minutes a day for two weeks, my teacher told me I was way too nervous and my parents needed to take me out more. That wasn’t an option at my house.
It should have been that Driver’s Ed. from school was enough to pass the practical test. At least that’s what everyone around me made it out to be. My bus driver even told me she would put in a good word for me at the DMV where her brother was one of the testers.
I had jelly legs every time I went behind the wheel.
My oldest brother was in a major car accident. He got hit by a grain truck his senior year in high school. I saw it from the school bus. His car looked like a crumpled up piece of aluminum foil. I couldn’t believe he walked to school a few minutes later.
My other older brother was in two car accidents. He hit black ice in the first one, and the second one involved a semi-trailer (at least that’s what I heard in school — he never talked about it).
With this kind of record, I was even more nervous.
The first time I went driving in my mother’s car, my mother dramatically tried to hold on to something screaming how bad I was driving. I got so scared and distracted that I almost drove right into the ditch. I had two younger siblings heckling in the peanut gallery in the back.
When I moved to the city, there was such good public transportation that I gave up on driving. I could count on one hand how many times I entered a car over the next 15 years.
When I turned 33, I was living in a small town and the bus situation to the city started crumbling.
It began with fewer buses because of a driver strike. Then it got more annoying because the buses were not coming according to schedule. The bus company gave the dumbest reasons why they were not sending another bus in its place.
One windy, rainy day, I had to take my baby to a doctor appointment in the city. We waited a few months for this particular appointment. Rain wasn’t enough of an inconvenience to cancel.
On the way home, a few minutes before the bus was scheduled to come, I took my baby out of his stroller and folded the stroller up to put underneath the bus. I was waiting in the bus box, so we weren’t getting wet, but it was cold.
The bus didn’t show up.
I called the bus company. They said to wait ten minutes and another one will come.
Rinse and repeat for an hour.
A bus came. He sped by the bus stop. The bus company reported the door underneath wasn’t working, so he couldn’t pick up people. And wait another ten minutes.
After a total of two and a half hours, a bus finally showed up.
The whole way home I thought about how I need to get over my fear of driving.
I took the written test again. I passed with flying colors.
Next I found a driving teacher. I chose to do manual transmission (the “stick shift”) because I wanted to prove I could do it. I was determined to get this license.
Why? The last time I drove with my mother, she just bought herself a brand new Ford Focus with a stick shift. On the way to work, we always had to pass this one sketchy neighborhood. I was scared of stopping there at 5:30 in the morning.
We got to the dreaded stop sign in the sketchy neighborhood. I couldn’t get the car to go. The car kept stalling. Maybe I didn’t have the coordination for gears. I didn’t even know what my problem was. That car just wouldn’t go.
Suddenly, someone came to the window of the car and asked if we needed help. He was huge and missing a tooth. My mother and I let out a shout you only hear in scary movies while trying to switch places so we could just get out of there.
A second reason I chose a manual driving teacher is because my grandfather told me once that robbers won’t steal your car if they see a stick shift. The only folks I know who got their car stolen all had automatic cars, so Papa might be onto something.
I had my first lesson with the driving teacher on my 34th birthday.
My first lesson was so cool. I figured out how to use “full clutch” and “half clutch.” All new cars have computer screens in them. I couldn’t believe how “smart” cars have gotten.
I enjoyed driving the stick shift. I felt it was a safer way to drive because you have to pay more attention to what’s going on and how your car works.
I had lessons twice a week for a year, but somehow was not even close to being able to take the test.
I know how to use a manual car, and I’m so glad I learned, but I spent a lot of money and still had no license. So I switched to a teacher for automatic transmission.
My new driving teacher picked up real fast about my anxiety. We practiced possible scenarios in the practical test countless times until she thought I could pass.
So far, I’ve failed the practical test three times. Each time because of anxiety. I was so sure I passed the last test. I was crushed to hear the automated message telling me that I didn’t succeed.
That was a month ago. Something happened since then. I don’t know what it was and I can’t explain it. I told myself, “I’m not afraid. I know what I’m doing. I can pass the test.” This time, I believed it. I felt a physical change this time.
My next test is in two weeks. I can’t wait to hear the automated message tell me I succeeded.
Any suggestions on how I should celebrate?
