Thursday, February 6, 2014

On Driving, Part 1 (Or, The Journey Begins...)

I feel like we're really getting to know each other, guys.

When I fired this bad boy up a couple years ago, I had no real directive. My earliest posts are certainly indicative of that, full of deliciously self-aware meandering toward sort-of-maybe-conclusions. And let's be real - there's still no theme here. Posts about making vegan banana bread or whatever will follow ruminations on religion, and that's kind of how I like it. But I feel like I've settled in now - getting personal feels more comfortable than it did before.

In the spirit of that comfort, I'm going to tell you a thing.

I can't drive.

I know, it's not really a secret. I've mentioned it before - in my last post, as a matter of fact. However, I've never really gotten into why I don't know how to drive, and as I **spoiler alert** start the process of learning, I feel like it's important to get a grip on what exactly has been holding me back.

Let me give you a hint: starts with "a," ends with, "nxiety."


Here's the thing: life as a chronically anxious person isn't all panic attacks, all the time. That's the limit, the extreme (at least for me). Mostly, it's a daily practice of facing situations and deciding not to be afraid of them. It's a learned skill that I've come to really value, and even pride myself on - the ability to actively decide that I can do things that terrify me. As awesome as it is to do things you know you love and are good at, there's nothing quite like the feeling of empowerment and accomplishment that comes from doing (and perhaps discovering that you love) a regular, not at all threatening activity that once made you feel as though you were marching toward your doom. I've lived a better life since acquiring this ability.

But I can't drive.

It never felt like something I was actively avoiding. I grew up in San Francisco - public transportation takes time, but it can get you everywhere and you don't have to worry about gas or parking. Done. My parents offered to give me a car if I stayed in state for college, but I wanted to go to Seattle, so forget that. Then it was back to San Francisco, where my first rule still applied. Never mind that, as an adult, I was starting to feel confined by the borders of my city and the limited reach of buses and trains and ferries to points beyond.

There was always an excuse, a reason to put off or delay, until finally - under pressure from my parents - I got my learner's permit. My aunt took me out to an empty parking lot to practice for the first time, and on the way, I got to work with the self-talk: I told myself that I would let go of being nervous and listen to everything I was told. And that worked for a little while - until we tried moving from the parking lot onto the real people street. Instant, pervasive, muscle-obliterating panic.

After that, I suddenly didn't have time to practice. I let my permit expire. I got crazy defensive whenever the issue came up. All hardcore, giant-sized steps back.

Maybe a year ago, I was visiting my sister in L.A. We were having lunch, and she gently inquired about my driving progress. All my old standby excuses came pouring out, but instead of fighting with me about them, she said, "Okay. And do you think it might be something you maybe have some anxiety about?"

To my own surprise, I almost immediately said, "Yes."

She's a tricky one, my sister. It's starting to occur to me that I give her far too little credit when it comes to understanding me.

If you read my last post, you'll know that this came up when I was in the middle of getting my head around a lot of stuff, but I put a pin in it (I know, I'm sorry) so that it wouldn't get lost in the shuffle. When I finally started seeing a therapist, it was one of the things I brought up as really wanting to work on, and we started off great. I took my permit test again. I started exposure therapy - sitting in the driver's seat of a car, putting my hands on the wheel. But that's as far as I could get. The thought of actually driving ramped me up from zero to losing it in seconds.

That's where I am now. What started as a fear has taken on the additional burden of shame and frustration. I don't love being twenty-seven and still bumming rides from people without being able to return the favor. I don't love planning my life around bus and train and ferry schedules. Perhaps worst of all is the thought that I've found a fear that I can't conquer, that will control me and restrict my life while everyone around me passes me by.

A chance conversation with a friend on Saturday lit a fire underneath me. Some well-chosen words and shared experience busted through my self-doubt, and a little seed of excitement was planted. Because you know what? That's not me. I'm nervous and I'm phobic and I somehow always manage to very publicly spit out my breath mint while trying to have professional conversations, but I don't back down from challenges. So I took that feeling and researched driving instructors on Sunday. I found a school with specialists for adults with driving anxiety and panic disorders, and I contacted them on Monday.

An appointment has been made. The journey has begun. And I'm going to share it here, step-by-possibly-painful-step. You'll never know the specifics of my appointments or tests or anything else in advance, because I don't need the added pressure, but I'll for sure be coming by to fill you in after the fact.

And posting vegan banana bread recipes in between.

Buckle up.

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