“Learn to type. Learn to drive. Have fun. Write postcards. (Letters take too long and you won’t do it; a postcard takes two minutes.) Be punctual. Don’t worry about what other people are thinking. They are not thinking about you.”
These words by the irreplaceable Maeve Binchy have stayed with me since I first read them many years ago. While I have learned to type and have long since stopped worrying about what people think of me, I had not until just recently learned to drive.
I still can’t quite believe it, but at the age of 54½, I, a menopausal woman who struggles with anxiety and a really bad sense of direction, have finally passed my driving test.
Driving has long been one of those life skills that I have always struggled to master.
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Years ago, in my late 20s, I took numerous lessons in a manual car with a series of patient instructors. I took one test and duly failed it, thanks to my nerves, which tend to go into overdrive the minute I sit behind the wheel. In fact, simply thinking about driving used to send me into a tailspin. For me it felt akin to having a loaded weapon in my hands.
Driving is hard for me, and it gets more difficult with age. I am more aware of the dangers, and Ireland’s sobering road death statistics are never far from my mind.
Life is busy, complex and messy, and the years fly by. One day you are in your 20s, resolving to get your driving licence, and the next you are in your mid-50s regretting that you never did.
For decades, my lifestyle enabled me to avoid driving at all costs. I lived in Dublin, where I had the Dart on my doorstep in Dalkey. I loved my journeys on those green carriages; not only were they stress-free, but they also allowed me to indulge in my favourite pastimes, namely eavesdropping and people-watching.
Should it be illegal to beep a learner driver? I am still looking for the person who honked at me when I was slow to enter a busy roundabout
I am also married to one of the most patient men in the world, who, having passed his driving test many moons ago at the age of 17, had become a full-time chauffeur for my 10-year-old daughter and I.
However, three years ago, we moved to Limerick in search of a better quality of life. We had enough of scrimping and saving in an increasingly expensive Dublin just to get by.
I love living in Limerick. It’s a compact and cosmopolitan city, the people are warm, and life is a lot less hectic. However, the one problem with Limerick is the complete dearth of a joined-up public transport system. To get anywhere, you really need to drive.
Thus, the move brought my lack of a driving licence into sharp focus. And my husband had to drive everywhere. From school runs to GAA training, soccer matches, shopping trips, to playdates and gymnastics, a car was needed every single time.
So, I took a deep breath and resolved again to learn to drive. This time, however, I took lessons in an automatic car, and that has made all the difference.
An automatic removes all the stress of changing gears, managing the clutch, cutting out on roundabouts, or worrying whether or not you remembered to put the handbrake on when in the shops. It practically drives itself for you, so you can concentrate on other important matters such as the rules of the road.
To further help quell my nerves, I decided to take all my lessons in my instructor’s car. I figured other drivers might be more patient with me if there was a massive “Learner” sign on the roof. When you make a mistake as a learner, it can really dent your confidence. But when another driver beeps at you for that mistake, every single thing you have learned goes out the window, and nerves take over for the entire lesson. This even makes me ask, should it be illegal to beep a learner driver? I am still looking for the person who honked at me when I was slow to enter a busy roundabout.
I bought a cheap, automatic 2009 Citroen C4, which my daughter named Big Bertha. I love vintage furniture, and with the space in Big Bertha, I dreamt of visiting auction rooms and charity shops and filling its boot with my finds. Once again, my long-suffering spouse stepped up to help me practise between lessons. Incredibly, we are still married.
My mind went blank. I panicked. I wanted to cry. And after what felt like hours, I finally worked out that the car had to be powered on to open the windows
My official driving instructor, Ger Doyle, was calm and completely unflappable. When he instructed me to turn left, and I turned right (as was my wont), he simply said, “no sorry, I meant the other left”. He spent hours explaining and re-explaining the rules of roundabouts to me. Limerick, it seems, is full of them, and we spent entire lessons literally driving around in circles until I finally got it.
On the day of my test, my nerves threatened to scupper my chances once again. It was a miserable rainy day in Limerick, and as I pulled up to the test centre with the ever-patient Ger, I could feel the anxiety rising in my throat.
I told the tester how I was feeling, and she tried to put me at ease.
Before we set off, she needed to check that all the lights on the car were working. She stood outside the car and told me to open the driver’s window so I could hear her instructions. Reader, I couldn’t open the window. My mind went blank. I panicked. I wanted to cry. And after what felt like hours, I finally worked out that the car had to be powered on to open the windows.
Surprisingly, she didn’t fail me there and then. When we got back to the test centre and she congratulated me for passing my test, I couldn’t quite believe it. I almost hugged her, ran straight out, hugged Ger and then phoned my husband, who was waiting at home like an expectant father.
I still can’t quite believe that at the age of 54½, I have finally passed my driving test, but today my pink driving licence arrived in the post, so it must be true.
Thanks Maeve. I finally did it.
