Mum was right.
I figured I should probably get into the habit of saying that, since I’m moving out over the summer and will most likely ignore all of her advice for the first month, before returning home a couple of weeks later crying “You were right, I should never have mixed the last of the vodka into the pancake batter!”
But I digress. In this instance, Mum was right about me driving. I was so convinced I hated it, and I did for a while. I loathed getting into the car, controlling a tonne of metal – if you’d seen me walking, you’d understand this is not a safe idea – and worrying about being a pain in the ass to other drivers. For most of my time in the car, I don’t go above 30mph, and I brake… probably far too often, to be fair.
It’s weird though, how knowing how to work a car, and being confident about using the clutch and brakes, makes you feel so much more relaxed about being in one. And I don’t hate it anymore. I don’t want to cry when I sit in the driver’s seat, and I didn’t cry after nearly crashing into some guy driving too fast up this narrow curved hill. It’s suddenly gone from this thing I dreaded doing every week, to something I can live with – it’s changed from Sociology last year into Vegetarian Tuesdays.
But my Mum was right about something else; I am always going to be a nervous driver. That’s just hereditary… She cannot expect me to love driving when she is such a nervous driver herself.
My next lesson is tomorrow afternoon and I think I’m going over reversing round corners… Turns in the road aren’t so bad, so this probably won’t be, either?