So, about driving

Whose idea was this, exactly?

First! I want to tell you about a free workbook you can download off my site: Jumpstart Your Writing in Six Steps. If you sign up to download it, you’ll be part of my mailing list, which just means you’ll get an email when there’s a new blog entry (yes, I’m re-starting the blog! It will be about writing, mostly, probably, but then that’s what this newsletter was going to be and we all see how that went).

Now let’s talk about the important issue at hand, which of course is driving. Mainly: why are we doing this? And: do I really have to?

I have some new subscribers, so first, hello, and welcome! I have a driving phobia. I haven’t driven a car since we moved out of New Jersey, which was 14 years ago. I wasn’t comfortable driving for the entire three years we lived in New Jersey; I avoided the highway with a few notable (in my mind) exceptions. Since we moved to Brooklyn, I haven’t so much as sat in a driver’s seat. But as of two weeks ago, we live in the country! So it’s time for me to figure this out.

I’ve now driven three times, which is, I realize, not that many times. I was going to drive every day, but it’s easy to just not, and so, frankly, I haven’t. The first time, I drove Scott around our immediate neighborhood, in a leisurely circle. It went fine! The second time, I drove with Scott to the library and then into town, all on winding country roads. “Huh,” I thought, “this is actually fun. Am I … cured?” (Spoiler: I was not.)

The third time, which was yesterday, I drove to the supermarket. It is exactly seven minutes from our house, and getting there involves driving on a multi-lane street for one mile. And I freaked the fuck out.

But I’m always encouraging precision in my coaching clients’ work so I guess I should take my own advice: By “freaked the fuck out,” I mean that I began shaking and sweating and my heart was racing and I kept hitting the brakes. Scott assured me that my driving was fine, that I was doing fine, but I was hugely, massively uncomfortable; I cannot emphasize enough how much I disliked the experience. I’m sweating right now, thinking about it! My hands are all cold and clammy!

I told a friend recently that I have the opposite of claustrophobia—I love small spaces; I’m into being wrapped up like a burrito. Ensconce me! But I get dizzy and overwhelmed and panicky in wide-open spaces. Even the beach can make me feel like I’m going to fly into space, and not in a fun way. Anyway, my friend said, “That’s agoraphobia.” So, huh. I guess that’s the issue, coupled with driving? Something about all those lanes, and cars merging, and all the sensory input, and I melt down. The fact that someone has allowed me to be in control of heavy machinery that I am hurtling through a wide open space all results in alarm signals clanging throughout my body.

So what do I do about this? What can I do? Keep driving, I guess. Keep driving until the alarms stop sounding. Because I am deeply in love with our house, and our little town, and I don’t intend to move back to Brooklyn just to avoid, you know, hurtling through space.

(Spot the cat.)