It’s scary!

Want Hera’s help? Email your problem to helpme@thespinoff.co.nz or fill out this form.

Dear Hera,

I have been procrastinating learning how to drive for literally a quarter of a century. 

The furthest I’ve ever got is getting my learner’s as a teenager then having a couple of lessons with my dad (who insisted on it being in a manual), hating every second of it, and forming the opinion that driving wasn’t for me. 

My whole adult life I’ve been making vague noises about how it’s something I should probably get around to etc… Never because it’s something I’ve wanted to do, but because it’s something I feel like I should do, or more importantly owe to the people in my life who might need me to drive them to the hospital one day.

But the longer I’ve left it, the bigger the mental obstacle it’s become. No amount of people telling me how easy driving actually is and how even total idiots know how to drive so I’d be fine can change my mind that it’s insanely dangerous and stressful and I’ll cause a serious accident (or at least mildly inconvenience other drivers) the moment I get behind the wheel.

I’d love to be able to claim there’s some principled moral reason why I don’t drive but the truth is that it’s just scary to me. I’ve been collecting a mental list of non-driving role models for years, but the list of people who’ve successfully learned to drive after the age of 40 seems small to non-existent. 

Is it even possible to learn how to drive at this late stage? And if so, how do I force myself to actually do it? 

Cheers,

Pedestrian

Dear Pedestrian,

I could have written this exact letter. If I hadn’t been able to personally verify your identity, I would have suspected friends and family of submitting this question as a sophisticated form of motivational trolling. 

I agree with everything you’ve said here. 

Cars are expensive. They are bad for the planet. They are not natural and therefore against God. 

Public transport is reliable and should be encouraged whenever possible. There are many fascinating characters on the bus, and in Dunedin, the drivers are allowed to play their own music, which is funny. 

Walking is good for you and keeps you fit. It is peaceful and righteous. Walking affords you an excellent opportunity to listen to fantasy novels about sentient boats. There is nothing nicer than walking around and looking at things, including other people’s big flowers and ugly ornaments. 

Not being able to drive means never having to be the sober driver or finding a parking spot on a busy street. 

There are so many sensible reasons not to drive. You might kill someone. You might be killed. Your car might turn evil and start mowing people down like that one Steven King book. You might have someone honk at you and make you sad :( Even if you are a wonderful driver, you are cursed to share the road with some of the dumbest and most noxious people on the planet. 

But like you, my primary objection has always been fear-based. Right now, the statistical probability of me killing someone is extremely low. Behind the wheel of a car, who can say? I’ve always thought that overall, it was a net benefit for humanity if I politely opted out. 

For years, that was good enough. But like you, as someone swiftly approaching 40, the justifications have started to wear a little thin. 

There are more and more moments where I find myself thinking: life would be so much easier if I knew how to drive. Imagine being able to go to the supermarket and pick up a missing dinner ingredient without either looking up the bus schedule or walking for an hour?

Altruistically, I’d love to be able to take the cat to the vet or drive a loved one to the airport. Selfishly, I’d love to be able to go on a spontaneous road trip to a small town or lug a cumbersome piece of furniture home from the op shop. 

Not being able to drive restricts the kinds of jobs I’m able to apply for. It means I’m forever walking around in thunderstorms or having to carry an entire birthday cake on the bus. 

Most of all, I’m sick of having to tell people I don’t know how to drive. It’s embarrassing, not to mention annoying for all the other people in my life, who have to chauffeur me around, like Miss Daisy. 

But it’s hard to get up the enthusiasm to commit, because the benefits are so far in the future, and to reach them, you have to first memorise all sorts of boring information like what the minimum tyre tread thickness should be, and how to use a gear stick. 

For years, I have put it off. And then I got your letter. 

It’s one of those letters where the answer is obvious, even to the writer. Yes, you can learn to drive. Many people, in fact, do. But it felt a little hypocritical to write back and brazenly encourage you when it was something I’ve also been putting off for so long. So I sucked it up, spent the last two weeks learning the road code, and as of this morning, I finally have my L plates.

The people at the driving school said they had never seen such correct answers. It was like that movie where the janitor starts solving equations on the blackboard. The New Zealand Road Code is now my Mastermind subject. 

The second deciding factor were the changes to the driving test, coming in early 2027, which means you only have to pass one practical driving test in order to eventually get a full licence. 

Obviously, I haven’t done the hard part (learning to drive) yet. But before the endorphins from having passed the theory test wore off, I asked around for driving instructor recommendations and booked in five sessions with the most patient person I could find, so it’s too late to chicken out now. 

There are some problems in life where thinking long and hard about how best to approach them is the most sensible solution. There are other times when making a split-second decision and financially committing to it before you have time to regret it is infinitely more effective.  

My recommendation to you is that, the moment you stop reading this letter, look up the nearest testing centre and book your learner’s licence test for two weeks’ time, before you have time to think it over. (Assuming you will have to sit your learner’s again.)

Forget about getting your relatives to teach you to drive. Ask around and find a driving instructor who specialises in middle-aged basket cases, and book in a few non-refundable sessions. My feeling is that having someone patient and calm and not biologically related to you in any way is probably the best way forward if you’re nervous. 

You don’t even have to tell anyone what you’re up to. That way, if it all goes horribly wrong, you can pretend it never happened. But imagine the look on everyone’s faces when all those people who have written you off as a lifelong passenger princess see you roll up in your souped-up Toyota Yaris with its lavender underglow and chrome mags. 

I don’t know whether learning to drive automatics is a better idea. My partner has a manual, otherwise I’d seriously consider it. But perhaps forgoing the gear stick will make life easier for you. Licensed drivers sound off in the comments. 

If I can do it, you can do it. Don’t think too hard about it. Make an appointment, and only worry about the consequences when it’s already too late. If after five lessons you are still absolutely petrified, you can always cravenly back out. But at least you’ll know you’ve tried.

If you need moral support, you can let me know how you’re going, and I’ll send you updates. 

See you on SH1!