Straight lines and empty lots

Special thanks once again to rojie for today’s prompt. if you haven’t done so already definitely check out her blog justrojie.com. Incidentally, this wasn’t the prompt designated for today’s date, but I liked it so much that I decided to write on it anyway.

Who taught you how to drive?

This one takes me back a little bit. I started learning to drive when I was roughly 15, getting ready to turn 16—so that’s more than 36 years ago.

For the most part, it was the old man who taught me how to drive. I remember we would go, sometimes on Sunday evenings, to our local shopping mall, which closed at 6:00 PM, to practice. Since they had a very spacious, open parking lot and even a small road that went around the east circumference of the property, I was able to practice driving up and down in straight lines in the beginning and then actually get something of a road experience as well.

The Old Man was quite calm when he was teaching me how to drive. I’m sure there were times that he got impatient with me, but he really didn’t let it show too much. I think he knew that if he got frustrated, I would get frustrated, and then the whole thing would be an exercise in futility.

I did try driving once or twice with my mother as I started to get a little bit more practice. I remember driving home one day with my learner’s permit, coming up my home street. There were cars parked along the curb as well as a car coming toward me in my direction. I was trying to get over so I could come to a stop, letting the other car come through, and I remember my mom yelling “Stop!” at me in an almost panicked voice. Needless to say, that was the last time I ever got behind the wheel of a car with my mother for probably 10 or 15 years.

I suppose it goes without saying that I didn’t actually get out on the regular road and drive with either of my parents until after I started driver’s ed. I think that would’ve been simply too nerve-racking for both of them—and for me.

That is one thing I feel like I really missed out on with Kid 1: teaching him how to drive. In some ways, I feel like I dodged a bullet. But other times, I wish I’d at least had that experience with him. I’ve driven with him while he still had his learner’s permit and he did very well, but because of the distance between us, it wasn’t like we could just get up on a Saturday morning or Sunday evening and go practice driving.

The truth is, I love driving. Even just one week removed from my accident, I still love the feeling. I don’t care if I’m running to the store just to get a gallon of milk—there’s something incredibly freeing and empowering about operating a motor vehicle. That’s never really gone away since I turned 16.

Except, back when I was 15 and 16, I was scared. That fear made me cautious, and ultimately, very safe. Over the years, though, confidence breeds complacency. Sometimes I think I drive a little bit like I play video games—taking risks, getting a little overzealous, forgetting that real life doesn’t give you extra lives. No one plans an accident. I didn’t crash because I was completely out of control, but I got too comfortable. And that complacency proved costly last Monday.

The flip side of losing that independence feels a bit like having your legs cut out from underneath you. Yes, it’s traumatic in its own way. My freedom and mobility have been severely limited, and daily obligations have suddenly become a logistical puzzle. Don’t get me wrong—I’m deeply fortunate that Sierra is loaning me one of her cars temporarily. But I’m strictly limiting it to driving to and from work so I’m not putting too many miles on her vehicle. And even still, it’s just not the same. Driving someone else’s car makes me more guarded than ever.

In some ways, I’ve noticed I’m driving a lot more like I did when I was 16. I turn the radio on and set my phone’s GPS before I even start the engine, and then I pretty much leave everything alone. I know those are good habits that I should always practice, but it’s funny how it takes a harsh reminder to put you back in that hyper-aware passenger-seat mindset.

Still, all in all, I don’t think I’ve done too badly for myself: two accidents in roughly 35 years of driving. The first happened when I was leaving a Detroit Tigers baseball game in 1999, when a car cut out in front of me trying to make a left-hand turn, partially T-boning my little red pickup truck and totaling it. Miraculously, I walked away uninjured. My accident last week was obviously much worse—ending with a trip to the hospital, leaving me sore, covered in scratches, and stocked with prescription pain meds.

It’s a heavy reset. But I’m hoping I can get back on the horse just as quickly as I did 27 years ago.

Rebuilding a life takes grit, consistency, and a lot of ‘Option C’ thinking. Having crossed the 1,000-day milestone, I’m now charting the territory beyond. The mission remains the same: No glitz. Just the work. New to the blog? Start your journey here to see the blueprint and the ‘Tricorder’ perspective behind the rebuild.

Today’s post is inspired by the WordPress Daily Prompt. While I’ve taken the topic in my own direction for the Road beyond 1,000 Days, you can find more responses to today’s prompt HERE.

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The article “ street lines and empty lots” first appeared in Rebuilding Rob.

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