learning to drive at 30 years old (um...over ten years ago)

You're thirty and you can't drive?


For many Canadian women, turning thirty can be an important time to reevaluate their lives and ask important questions: Should I have children, and when? Is my career where I want it to be? Should I get married, or continue living with my spouse?

Before I turned thirty, I found myself more and more concerned with the fact that I still couldn't drive. Although I knew that other women (and men) hadn't learned this important skill, I felt alone with my problem; everyone I knew could drive and had been driving for as long as they could remember. So where did that put me?

Sometimes the subject of driving would enter into a casual conversation, and I would pretend to be a driver like everybody else. "And don't you hate those people who don't signal?" I'd hear myself say. Or, "I'm pretty good at finding my way through a new city," which was at least partly true, as I'd had years of reading the map and directing the car - from the passenger's seat. At other times, I would cautiously admit that I wasn't a driver, which would cause the inevitable tactless person to exclaim loudly, "Really, you don't drive? Why not?" leaving me red-face and apologizing incoherently.

My reasons (or excuses) for not driving sounded reasonable to others, but weak in my own ears: "I have always lived in the city" I'd say, or "I think driving only contributes to the urban smog". Even worse, I'd find myself sounding woefully unliberated with "My husband drives me everywhere I need to go," which was only partially true, anyway.

Not being a driver was more of an inconvenience than I wanted to admit. I couldn't drive on my own to the grocery store, to the library, or to my weekly choir practice. I couldn't think of night classes at inconvenient or only partially safe locations. If I went out to a friend's for dinner, or went to parties on my own, I had to rely on others to drive me home, or pay a rather nasty cab fare. Even worse, I knew that I wouldn't be much use in an emergency, as I wouldn't be able to take the wheel. Most inconvenient of all, I couldn't write cheques or be admitted into a dance club without a licence, one of the few forms of picture I.D.

After much reflection (and much trepidation), I made my big decision: I would brave driving in Toronto and get my licence before I turned thirty; instead of berating myself for having waited so long, I would tackle driving the way I had tackled other problems in my life, like finishing my education.

My life was changed when I first walked through classroom door of a reputable driving school, for in those few seconds I realized that I was not alone. Although there were a few teenagers in the room, the vast majority of the would-be drivers in the class were in their twenties, thirties and forties, and many of them were women like myself. For a wide variety of reasons, they also had never actually completed their driving tests.

From an adult's perspective, the first portion of the driving school's curriculum was not really appropriate. We didn't need to be insistently reminded of the dangers of the road, hammered over the head with frightening statistics and gory videos. Many of us had lived long enough to have experienced or witnessed car accidents that had left unforgettable images in our memories. We were no longer cocky teens who needed to be reminded of the serious responsibility of driving.

On the other hand, we all benefited from the in-depth explanations of driving techniques. Unlike teenage learners who were often more concerned with just getting their license, we cared about learning how to drive well: we knew the value of life, and wanted to learn the best methods of preventing any accidents at all. If it was important to keep space between cars, for instance, we would learn how to do it.


The next step in learning to drive required the most courage because over the years I had actually built up some fears about taking the wheel. So it was not without much apprehension that I sat in the driver's seat with my instructor and learned how to turn on the ignition and position the rear-view mirror. My instructor had a great deal of confidence in me, however, and from the first day worked to instill that confidence in me. He made me understand that I could do it, that I just needed some practise.

I can't describe the wonderful elation I felt after that first ride and after each of the many rides I took with my kind instructor. I remember telling all my friends about each of my new successes. "I learned how to make a three-point turn" I would say proudly. Or, "I made my first lane-change today, and my instructor said that I did it perfectly!" My friends were always as pleased I was, sympathetic and encouraging. They admired my courage, they said, reminding me that it takes guts to learn to drive later in life.

After driving for a while, I made my second revelation. Driving was not a mysterious ability, divinely given to those lucky members of society who happened to be mechanically minded. Neither was it the exclusive territory of the aggressive and overly confident. And it did not make one a superior human being. Driving was simply a skill, one that could be learned at any time in one's life.


It took me three tries to get my driver's licence, and there were definitely moments when I second guessed myself, but after working very hard to get this far, I wasn't prepared to turn back. Both times I failed I cried for the rest of the day, feeling humiliated and even a bit angry. And when, after the second try, I came home to a bouquet of flowers, which my husband had bought me to celebrate my anticipated success, I burst again into a fresh set of tears. Still, I soon nerved myself up for a third try, and in the dead of winter, on a blizzardy day, I earned my license.

That day I felt more proud of myself than I felt after any other successful venture in my life. This meant more to me than getting any job, or even getting my degree. By earning my driver's licence, I had conquered one of my biggest fears. Although I knew that I would still often prefer to walk rather than drive, I felt empowered and more independent. After tackling driving in Toronto, the sky now seemed the limit.