Practice makes perfect

A story of Fear and Driving in Los Angeles

The other day I was driving and... yes, you read that right. I WAS DRIVING! Driving around Los Angeles. Gliding along the PCH at sunset with the windows down, the wind in my hair, the sound system revved right up. Okay, that last sentence was just thrown in for a bit of colour, but I'm hoping it won't be long before that's what I'm actually doing. 

The important part is, I am driving. I don't have my license yet but I am coming to the end of a course of lessons, and in between them, I am jumping behind the wheel every chance I get (accompanied by a licensed driver of course; more on that later). We need milk? Let me drive to Whole Foods! Who's picking up Sebastian the dog from daycare? I can go! We're going to a friend's house for dinner? I'll take us! 

I am driving. And I am enjoying it. As OG readers of this newsletter will recall (I've previously written about it here) this is kind of a big deal. Because driving and I have history. 

The abridged version: I attempted to learn to drive, on and off, between the ages of 18 and 24. I went through four different instructors and failed five driving tests which is quite impressive when you think about it. Something clearly didn't click, but I was ok with it. I moved to London - a city where nobody drives - and remained there for the majority of my 20s and 30s.

So that's how I ended up in a city where everybody drives, unable - and frankly afraid - to drive, in my late 30s. Then came the pandemic, IVF and Maggie's arrival. There's always an excuse isn't there? Until about two years ago when I finally booked a course of three two-hour lessons with a local driving school. Unbelievably, I was told, that's all the lessons I would need to take before my test. For context - you're learning to drive an automatic, the driving test lasts no longer than 20 minutes and there are no manoeuvres involved - but still, they hand out driving licenses to kids here after six hours of lessons?! 

The guy teaching me looked young enough to be my son. On our second lesson he forgot I was a beginner (assuming, like most people, that I at least had my UK license) and it made me so irritated and anxious (what a combination) I cancelled the third one. A few months later I signed up with a different driving school, figuring that if I went with an instructor three times the age of the first instructor, he would be three times more experienced. He was senior, I'll give him that. Honestly? I'm not sure he should be behind the wheel himself anymore, let alone teaching anybody else. 

Are you starting to see how I’ve got through so many instructors?!

Fast forward to earlier this year. I notice a reputable, well known organisation runs a particularly comprehensive student course. I call them to have a chat about my predicament given I'm the oldest person in LA without a driving license™ and it's getting to be beyond a joke. A helpful lady on the phone is encouraging and without judgement - but she, too, states I will only need six hours of lessons to learn to drive. Before I can let out an exasperated sigh of: 'SIX HOURS OF LESSONS WILL NOT BE ENOUGH! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND WHO YOU'RE DEALING WITH!' she explains...

Each of the six hour-long lessons are strictly spread out by a minimum period of 14 days to allow you enough time to put into practice the specific elements you've covered every lesson, in your own car. This makes complete sense but for some reason was not relayed to me by the previous two instructors. Did they think it was too obvious to mention?! Am I at fault here?! Maybe don't answer that.

The analogy my new instructor (my seventh and - let's be optimistic here - final instructor) uses is that if you were learning to play a musical instrument and you just showed up for the lessons but didn't practice in your own time, you wouldn't, well, get anywhere, would you? The penny finally drops. My life is practically flashing before my eyes. I had piano lessons for years. I never practiced. So it never really clicked. I have had driving lessons over the years. I never practiced. So it never really clicked.

I've blamed instructors for not being 'the right fit'. I've blamed the test itself for being stressful (the UK test is significantly more difficult since it lasts 40 minutes and includes different manoeuvres). I've even blamed my family genes (my late mum didn't learn to drive until she was in her 40s)

... But I just needed to practice!

And now I have my official licensed driver companion (my neighbour and dear friend Claudia) there is no stopping me. My husband Chris briefly auditioned for the role but owing to what I'll refer to as creative differences, he did not get a callback.

Claudia, meanwhile, has the patience of a saint. She stays calm when I come to a screeching halt, doesn't bat an eyelid when I nearly cut off other cars and that almost head-on collision? We laughed about it, right, Claudia?

I'm making mistakes but I'm learning from them. And yes, I feel bloody old to be learning to drive in a city where I already feel past my sell-by-date but I'm finally getting somewhere. Seven instructors, two countries, one great big leap of faith, later. I think my mum would be proud.