Welcome back.
When last I left you, the exploratory period had ended. All non-practical steps forward had been taken: a driving school had been found, an inquiry was sent, an instructor contacted me, and (far more quickly than I intended) an appointment was made. I already had a permit that had been sitting quite uselessly in my desk for the better part of six months. There was nothing left to do in the matter but drive.
And drive I did.
I promised that I would be candid about this process - the good, the bad, the whatever - and I intend to keep that promise, whether the end result is me gaining a license or lighting the aforementioned permit on fire and dancing on its ashes while loudly and ritualistically forswearing automobiles forever. I'm starting to get the sense that I may be more inclined toward the former, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
It's easy to talk a big game and be all, "Hey guys, I'm really empowered, so I'm going to learn how to drive, here's me blogging about it, I'm a superhero," but the night before my scheduled lesson, empowerment had been bumped from the guest list to make room for blind terror. One tiny, logical voice in my head was telling me that there was nothing to worry about - or, at least, to be this worried about. A thousand others were screaming that I was voluntarily walking into a fiery hellpit of death and destruction. Guess who I was listening to?
A friend - the same friend who managed to get me believing this was something I could do in the first place, actually - ended up very generously taking some time to sit with me and talk through what was going on in my head. A lot of people - wonderful, loving, well-meaning people who were just trying to be supportive and for whom I am eternally grateful - had been telling me that everything would be fine and I'd be great, but that was hard for me to hear because I didn't believe it, and after awhile it just meant nothing at all. This particular friend did me the kindness of opening up about her similar struggles, and it helped.
Note: Really, guys, I can't overemphasize the power of understanding that you're not alone. If you ever have the opportunity to tell someone, "Hey, me too," do it.
Perhaps the greatest thing to come out of that conversation was the idea that if I wasn't great - if this wasn't something I could do, or even something I ended up wanting to do - then it would be okay. It wouldn't make me a failure as a functional adult. "If you don't like it, you don't like it," she said, "But I think you're going to like it."
The terror wasn't gone, but I was able to focus it on a single fear: that I wouldn't be able to find the courage to at least try, which was now the only unacceptable outcome. Conquering that very specific fear became new step number one, and that I could handle.
The next morning, wearing my Captain Marvel shirt because it makes me feel brave (being 27 doesn't mean that stuff like that has to change - hell, I'm of the opinion that being 77 doesn't mean stuff like that has to change), I strapped in and made it happen.
My instructor was incredibly patient, calm, and supportive. She never raised her voice, never scolded or admonished. Credit was given when it was due, reminders were gently delivered when they were needed. When I panicked - and I did panic a couple times, though not as much or as powerfully as I'd anticipated (therapy in action, shoutout to my doctor) - she gently brought me back and checked in, never once telling me how to feel.
We started in a parking lot where I was able to get a feel for the car, but before I even had time to really process that it was happening, we were on the streets. That's where we spent the bulk of the two hours, with me at the wheel. We made protected and unprotected turns (I'm not terrible at it), we changed lanes (makes me want to vomit repeatedly at this point), went uphill and downhill (not big ones, certainly for this city, but still), and crossed some busy streets (accounting for a few of the several times I stopped breathing).
Nobody died. Nobody even almost died. And, for the first time, I felt like this was something I was going to be able to do. I even have the sense that, eventually, I'm going to enjoy doing it. The, "Can I or can't I?" weight dropped off about five minutes after I left that parking lot, and it was kind of liberating.
Now, I don't mean to make it seem like it was all sunshine and rainbows. I still feel like I got hit by a truck because of how tense every muscle in my body was, and I was sweating profusely from the minute I opened the car door ("It's really hot, is it okay if I turn the air up?" - My instructor's kind lie as my hands puddled on her steering wheel). But it's a thing I can do.
It's a thing I'm going to keep doing, until I'm not afraid of it anymore.
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