Back in the Saddle

I was trained at the "School of Neurotic Parent Driving Instruction for Firstborns" also known as the "JesRPenn School of Driving."  I was terrified from the get go of driving and all things "car" and though given my license by the State of New Jersey, at eighteen mind you, instead of seventeen like my peers, was not give approval by the director of the JesRPenn School, my father.  There was a lot of shouting and hand-wringing and general freaking out by my instructor who did not realize that I was already pretty crazy and anxious myself.  This sad story begins my history with driving.  And it only gets worse.


I have a true anxiety, you could even call it a phobia, around driving.  While a competent and safe driver, I am not able to relax in the car.  I do not feel the wind in my hair, open road in front of me, top down,  and have dreams of discovery or get excited.  Instead, I get a bit sick.  Like vomiting or diarrhea sick every time I have to get behind the wheel.  It is part of my nature, however, to try to do things that I don't like or am not good at, even if I am going to make everyone around me insane as I go through fits and tantrums, tears and swearing. 

It was easy to avoid driving in most of the places I'd lived since getting my license the first time in New Jersey, (Yes I say the first time, as the damned thing expired while I was away at college and my parents relocated to Texas preventing an easy renewal, and I lost my driving "privileges."  I had to retake the tests, written and road, years later in Atlanta.) moving first to Boston and living there for ten years, a stint in Atlanta, and then on to the Mecca of non-drivers, Manhattan.  I did drive in Atlanta and did it well thanks to the teaching of my sister, an incredible driver and extremely patient instructor, but I never warmed to it.

Manhattan was heaven for me.  Heck the high school kids don't even have driving instruction!  No drivers education, written or road testing, and they are proud of it.  The city boasts an incredible transit system, subways, buses, walkable streets and avenues, taxi cabs, pedicabs, limousine services.  There, it was not strange to hear that I didn't drive or didn't like it.  I could relax and breathe easy.  Life was good.  Two children and living in a country like Barbados, changed all that.  Didier drove for the first year. Everywhere. Everyday.  If he could not drive me, I would take the bus or ask my friend Karl, an expatriate friend with lots of time on his hands, if he would mind shuttling me around.  No, I didn't love it and hated being dependent on other people, but seriously, I was scared shitless.  I just couldn't imagine trying to navigate these poorly paved, narrow roads, in a car with steering on the right hand side, driving on the other side of the road than I'd been taught.  I mean, let's make it a personal hell, why don't we?

But here I am.  With swimming lessons and Virginie starting nursery school and Didier's job growing ever more demanding, I just couldn't ask him to keep leaving work.  He still does the drop off and pick up for Lily, as her school is in Bridgetown and too many roundabouts (traffic circles) away.  (They were getting rid of the roundabouts in New Jersey when I was a kid because they were deemed too dangerous and all you see in Barbados is roundabouts and no followed road rules!)  But I do go along for the ride as a sort of peace offering.  "I am sorry I cannot make the drive, but I will not have any fun while you do it and will even come with you to prove it."  I do also go because it is one of the few times we get to see each other in the day, but there is a part of me that goes out of guilt.  Guilt because I am not good at something and am too scared to try.  Guilt because I am asking someone to do something for me, something I cannot do myself.

There was a commercial on television a few years back, I think for Volkswagen, that said something to the effect of "On the road of life, there are drivers and there are passengers.  Drivers Wanted." and it hurt me every time.  Hit me right in the gut.  I am a worthwhile individual.  I don't sit idly by as the movers and shakers achieve and do.  I achieve and do.  I just don't like doing it in the car.  But for my children, my catalysts for change, I will make an effort.  Add to my resumé, driver.  With blood, sweat, and tears, I am back in the saddle.

(c) Copyright 2011.  City Mom in the Jungle.