My Complicated Relationship with Driving

Photo by Cristofer Maximilian on Unsplash

A friend recently wrote a blog post, On Being a Bad Driver. I relate 100%. I wrote about driving before on my website, but here is another go at it for the newsletter.

Growing up in a very modest family, I asked my dad for an unthinkable luxury item when I was sixteen. I wanted a car. I didn’t have any trouble getting my license. I was good at taking tests. He said no. We didn’t have any spare money.

In our family culture, a teenager doesn’t get a car. When dad was growing up in Taiwan, he and his siblings walked everywhere. For hours. To him, all I had to do was go to school. I was perfectly healthy to walk a few miles every day.

Dad also didn’t trust me with his car, so I couldn’t borrow his car either.

In New Jersey, I felt immobile and trapped. Everyone in high school who turned the legal age to drive had a car. My dad was oblivious to the American suburb culture and how awkward and embarrassing I felt walking in the town where we lived. I survived high school depending on my best friend giving me rides.

The dependent lifestyle continued in college and into my twenties. My boyfriends had cars. I was good at being a passenger. I drove when I had, but I could count the number of trips I had on my own, less a handful.

In my thirties and forties, as a single, I told myself not having a car was green and good for the earth. I’m not a car person, I said often. But in the back of my mind, I vaguely felt not being good at driving was a handicap. It was a tool and skill that so many people had that I didn’t.

One day, I decided to buy a second-hand car opportunistically so I could live as a car person. Buying myself a car was possible now. Driving on Mass Ave was bumper-to-bumper scary. I could never tell which way the honking was coming from. Parking in Back Bay was a nightmare, sometimes taking an hour or more to find a free spot. Renting a parking spot in an alley off Mass Ave was expensive and hard to get in and out of. Getting gas each time felt like I was flushing money down the toilet. So, after the initial excitement, I left the car at the parking spot for weeks. After six months, I got rid of it altogether. The car only added stress and the feeling of waste while I maintained a thing I didn’t use.

A close friend commented, “It’s interesting. It’s not like you don’t go anywhere. You travel the world. Europe. Asia. But you do stay in the four-by-four blocks of Boston. Nothing in between!” When I think of adventure, I either walk or fly.

Based on my 40+ years of mostly city living and habits, I learned to live a single life without owning a car. As a minimalist-want-to-be, I’m glad I don’t own a car which is one of the most significant expenses in average households. I know all the great reasons not to. I have so much already in my life.

But I have lost something without being good at driving: a sense of adventure, freedom, convenience from driving, and the ability to help others.

I wouldn’t know what to do with a car if I had a car. My brain doesn’t navigate the world that way. Even as a loyal ZipCar subscriber, I had never taken one out on my own for fun or necessity in the last six or seven years. I’m comfortable dependent on others to get to places that don’t have public transportation or willing to take double or triple the time to get somewhere via the T or bus. I’ve been fine without a car. More than fine.

Reading my friend’s blog post, it’s clear that she started driving for her child, mother-in-law, and family. I imagine one day I’ll have to take care of my parents in suburbia. Perhaps, then I have to drive. But would that be too late? Will I be able to learn then?

What is this driving business really about? Why does it nag me?

First, it’s about fear. I dislike operating machinery. I don’t think I’m good at it. I’m scared of driving. I think I’ll hit someone, and I don’t want to. Like my friend, my heart races, and I get stressed about not knowing the roads or looking for parking. I have had no practice. It’s a vicious cycle.

The second is creativity. I want to open my mind about where I can go in this world. I could leave everything alone and say I’m good without this. But is that limiting? My recent trip to the Arcadia National Park made me very happy. It’s a whole new lifestyle that I’m missing out on. I think it’s healthy to want more of that.

Third, finding the motivation to do something different from what I’m familiar with alone. At this point, getting a car is no longer an issue. Driving may also soon not be an issue. I can get a self-driving car when that becomes more common. The bottom line is that I need a good reason to jump into a car alone.

I’ll challenge myself in these small ways. Figure out new and unfamiliar places I want to go off the public grid. Get a bike as a first small step (read my post: I’m What I Do, so What Do I Do) and wander around as a way to conquer this deep fear in me of being on the road operating a “moving machine.” No matter how small I feel. Get out of my comfort zone, even though I know I don’t have to.

Like I said, it’s complicated.