Dashboard confessional
28 June 2008 10:27 PM Categories: Quotidian
existence
Six months of
confessions and sad stories, and I have yet to reveal
my deepest secret, the thing that really sets me
apart from the rest of the world. But there are
others in the world like me -- we have a way of
sniffing each other out, of finding each other across
long distances, which is quite a feat, since we don't
drive.
That's right: I don't drive. Yes, even though I possess a driver's license, I have not been behind the wheel of a car since 1996. That was back in Columbus, Ohio, where I took driving lessons and passed the test -- in a stick shift, no less -- only to continue with my non-driving, pro-walking lifestyle.
The Ohio license was my ticket to a Washington, DC license, which in its turn practically guaranteed me a California license, both sans driving test. California required that I take a written exam, which I passed by the skin of my teeth, with a score just good enough to get my golden pass to the highways. But, don't worry. If you are driving the roads of our fine state this summer, or any time in the near future, you will be relieved to know that I will either be safely ensconced in the passenger's seat or hoofing it.
Though I am a big supporter of public transportation (how could I not be?) and I am happy not to have to plunk down an extra car payment, my decision not to drive has nothing to do with a political stance or with economics.
I am afraid.
Five people from my high school were killed in car accidents in the space of a year and a half. When I was fifteen, I was in an accident on the very same winding Delaware back road where two upperclassman had been killed a month before, though I got off lucky, with a few stitches near my right eye.
I concluded early on that cars are big, heavy, and fast and can cause a lot of damage. The possibility of killing someone with a two-ton, gasoline-powered weapon is terrifying. I can't suspend disbelief, act as if there is no danger involved. Everyone shuttles around in these shuddering heaps of metal and plastic as though it is the most normal thing in the world. And I guess I do, too, as a passenger, though I'm not exactly a relaxed passenger.
It's a phobia, one that was relatively easy to live with when we were in the middle of convenience, in a fantastic DC neighborhood where everything was within walking distance and if it wasn't, I could hop on the Metro to get there. No one even needed to know that I didn't drive, which was wonderful, because I'm embarrassed by it, this dependency on my husband, this weird fear of mine.
Now that we're in a less convenient place, I am feeling the effects of life without driving. I know what I need to do, but I don't know if I can do it. Hey, if Sarah Vowell can survive without driving, why can't I? (But then again, if Katha Pollitt finally did learn to drive, what's my excuse?)
That's right: I don't drive. Yes, even though I possess a driver's license, I have not been behind the wheel of a car since 1996. That was back in Columbus, Ohio, where I took driving lessons and passed the test -- in a stick shift, no less -- only to continue with my non-driving, pro-walking lifestyle.
The Ohio license was my ticket to a Washington, DC license, which in its turn practically guaranteed me a California license, both sans driving test. California required that I take a written exam, which I passed by the skin of my teeth, with a score just good enough to get my golden pass to the highways. But, don't worry. If you are driving the roads of our fine state this summer, or any time in the near future, you will be relieved to know that I will either be safely ensconced in the passenger's seat or hoofing it.
Though I am a big supporter of public transportation (how could I not be?) and I am happy not to have to plunk down an extra car payment, my decision not to drive has nothing to do with a political stance or with economics.
I am afraid.
Five people from my high school were killed in car accidents in the space of a year and a half. When I was fifteen, I was in an accident on the very same winding Delaware back road where two upperclassman had been killed a month before, though I got off lucky, with a few stitches near my right eye.
I concluded early on that cars are big, heavy, and fast and can cause a lot of damage. The possibility of killing someone with a two-ton, gasoline-powered weapon is terrifying. I can't suspend disbelief, act as if there is no danger involved. Everyone shuttles around in these shuddering heaps of metal and plastic as though it is the most normal thing in the world. And I guess I do, too, as a passenger, though I'm not exactly a relaxed passenger.
It's a phobia, one that was relatively easy to live with when we were in the middle of convenience, in a fantastic DC neighborhood where everything was within walking distance and if it wasn't, I could hop on the Metro to get there. No one even needed to know that I didn't drive, which was wonderful, because I'm embarrassed by it, this dependency on my husband, this weird fear of mine.
Now that we're in a less convenient place, I am feeling the effects of life without driving. I know what I need to do, but I don't know if I can do it. Hey, if Sarah Vowell can survive without driving, why can't I? (But then again, if Katha Pollitt finally did learn to drive, what's my excuse?)