Life is a Highway, I (Don’t) Want To Drive It All Night Long
April 23, 2017
I’m not a great driver. Not like “scary, shouldn’t be on the road” level, but if we were partners on the Amazing Race you’d probably want to take the wheel. It would be more pleasant for everyone.
Generally I feel like driving would be a lot nicer if no one else was on the road. And the weather was always perfect. And there were no tunnels, multiple lane highways, or tight turns. So springtime in rural Kansas around 2pm? No, there’s the possibility of tornadoes there. Forget it, can you just drive?
My deficiencies are four fold:
I have no sense of direction. None. In high school my friend had to come pick me up off the side of the road, twice. In our town. That I lived in since I was 5. Which is 17.49 square miles. “Jess, I’m lost. There are some trees and a blue house…”
There will probably be a whole other post about how math gives me hives, but for now this is specifically related to mileage. When someone says that Point A is 45 miles from Point B they could have just said Point A is purple away from Point B and I would feel like I have the same amount of information. “How long is your commute, Bec?” “1 hour 15 minutes.” “No, the distance.” “1 hour, 15 minutes units of distance?”
I didn’t drive on the highway until college. It was fast and scary and you had to look over your shoulder to merge and it all just seemed unnecessary to me. Until I went to college and the only way to visit my best friend in Leominster was by highway since neither one of us owned a private plane. I practiced merging onto the highway by walking fast and passing people on sidewalks. It wasn’t a terrible idea, but also not practical or helpful. So never mind, actually it was a terrible idea.
I don’t like to be near them. This anxiety caused my mother even greater anxiety when she was teaching me to drive. Once I was driving with my mom and brother shortly after getting my permit. Other cars were on the road driving the opposite direction (the way roads typically work) and I felt that they were uncomfortably close to the line in the middle of the road (they weren’t). So I was hugging the side of the road a little (probably a lot).
My mom’s reaction to this was to scream “YOU ARE TRYING TO KILL ME AND YOUR BROTHER!” (I wasn’t.) Shockingly, I wasn’t psyched about this and yelled back “YES, MOM. YES, I AM TRYING TO KILL YOU! WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT? HOW IS THAT HELPFUL RIGHT NOW?”
And then we all cried.
Road trip anyone?
With heartfelt apologies to anyone I’ve ever driven,