On Driving, Part 3 (Or, Smash...)

Well. Took a bit of a break, didn't I?

It's my own fault that it's taken so long for me to get this out and up. You see, I cheated - instead of keeping the story going in spite of hitting a few rough spots, I tried to hold out for a happier end point. And I got one, but then I lost it. Serves me right.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.


I've been driving since February. Blind terror has evolved into less pervasive discomfort and surface anxiety, and while that may still sound like a bummer, it's actually pretty great. There have been moments when being behind the wheel has felt kind of natural - I even had one lesson where I didn't sweat through my entire life (it's the little victories, guys).

I'm not comfortable with speed, though. Going above 30 makes my stomach drop, and then my brain sidles over and is all, "Hey, you know that thing that's making you feel queasy? You're in control of that. So don't eff it up, or we'll probably all die." And I don't find that helpful or reassuring and what's breathing again do I need to do that?

Speed. It's a problem.

My instructor identified it as a problem, and after talking it over with me, we decided to try out the highway. Here's what I liked about that: she talked about it with me. It wasn't a surprise - there was no pushing me out of the nest to see if I'd fly.

Here's what I didn't like about it: driving on the highway.

I thought I had a grip on what I'd agreed to, but as soon as my instructor sped me up and it was all happening, I was barely holding it together. It didn't take her long to figure that out - a good indicator might have been my actual inability to say words when she asked if I was okay - but she carefully let me know that I was doing fine. "It's easy," she said, before catching herself and saying, "It's easy for me. It's okay if it's not easy for you."

That was helpful, both in the moment and after. We do that a lot, don't we? We describe things as easy in an effort to make other people feel less afraid of trying them - I know I have. But that can translate so quickly into a sense of inadequacy if the thing that was supposed to be easy ends up making you want to hyperventilate and cry.

I got through it - we drove to San Bruno and back. As soon as I got back to my office, I sat down on the floor and cried for a few minutes - lesson concluded, it seemed like a safe time and place to release all the residual adrenaline and panic that I'd been holding back. Once I pulled myself together, the reality of the situation became pretty clear: I had survived driving on the highway, I hated driving on the highway, and I had to drive on the highway again as soon as possible in order to keep it from growing into some kind of unnameable monster that I couldn't deal with.

So when my next lesson rolled around, not only did I agree to face my newly minted nemesis again, but I also said yes to stepping it up and trying out the freeway.

Story within a story: when I was about fifteen, I hated having my blood drawn. Making this extra unfortunate was the fact that I'd been diagnosed with a thyroid condition that would involve regular blood tests for the rest of my life. I took quite a few trips to the lab that year, and every time we turned into the parking lot, my stomach would roll, the cold sweat would start, and it would just be a bad time. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I sat with myself and had a moment: "Listen, you're going to have to do this for forever, so it's just not going to bother you anymore. Let's try that." I did try that. And it went pretty well. Employing the, "You've Done This Before, It's Not Your Favorite, But Nobody Died, So Let's All Calm Down," methodology helped me eventually eliminate the fear altogether. Now I just give my blood away at will to whoever wants it.

I've probably mentioned before that my willpower has failed me with my driving fears, and that it's been a very frustrating part of the process. But I decided to give it a try again, and as we approached the point where I'd have to start speeding up, I took a deep breath and thought back to the first time. I remembered panicking, but I also remembered getting through it. My stomach dropped again, but I kept breathing this time. After a few minutes, I felt okay. Even borderline comfortable. When we stepped it up and hit the freeway, I waited for panic to set in, only to realize that it wasn't even lurking nearby. I kept my speed up. I changed lanes. Everybody lived.

It was the triumphant moment I wanted to end this post on.

Then I got into my first accident on Wednesday.

And by, "got into," I mean, "got confused with my dad, panicked, jumped a curb, and broke his radiator."

Victory is fleeting, guys.

I'm okay. No other cars or people were involved, so the world's okay. The car needed some fixing, but it's okay. And I went out driving with my friend Jennie later that afternoon to keep from retreating back into the blind terror zone.

But it's one more thing I'm going to have to sit with and talk to myself about for awhile to keep it from taking over. I'm pretty determined not to let one bummer of a moment undo close to three months of hard work, and that's a good start.

Let's see how it goes.