When daily life gets frustrating, I figure it out.
I don’t drive. That’s just the way it is. Oh, I got a learner’s permit and took driver’s ed when I was sixteen. One day I even went out practicing, with my mother riding shotgun. That must have been a really bad experience, but I can’t tell you what happened. I don’t remember.
Whatever my mother was saying or doing in the car that day must have terrified me, and I decided it was safer to check out of current reality. Meaning, I dissociated the entire episode. Total amnesia for well over an hour. When I was behind the wheel of a car. On the main drag of the small town we lived in. Responsible for the safety and well-being of others.
I still panic at the thought of what might have happened that day, and decided it was better to try looking normal in ways that didn’t threaten vehicular homicide. So here I am, sixty years old and haven’t even tried to drive in….a very long time.
I’m well aware that that’s not normal in this day and age, when a driver’s license is considered a rite of passage. And not driving in such a culture presents a few challenges to everyday living. For starters, how do you fill the fridge and pantry when you don’t have a back seat to toss the food into?
