Driving to Glory

Airplanes. They give me an uneasy twitch in the stomach as they slowly come to life and gain fiery momentum. In seconds you sense the tyres bidding a speedy farewell to the runway. This feeling then transforms into admiration for the flawless skill with which millions of pilots glide through the heavens each day. If ever the voice greeting us from the cockpit happens to be that of a woman, I turn even more observant to the beautiful things she does with the plane.   

I do not endorse nepotism, however, in my mind I hoist a little bravery flag, for women can be so amazing. Not that flying a boeing is my dream, but I guess taking charge of a gigantic machine is super cool.

This takes me back to last year and then way into the flashback. I learnt riding the bike almost instantly. The moment I started it, I knew what to do. So easy. The enormous Volvo buses fascinated me and so did the train engines. However when it came to cars, I would quietly hide in my shell. Not so easy. There were a host of things that bothered me. My fear of inaccurate judgement coupled with failing to drive well, handicapped my wish of being a great driver.  Everything on the road seemed like a threat. The sound of thoughtless and incessant horns would scare me even before I put my seat belt on. Narrow lanes and steep slopes with signals monitoring the traffic were my worst enemy. The teamwork between the clutch and break would suddenly not make sense to me and all hell would break loose.

Sometimes everyone seemed to be in a hurry while at other times every single being on the street would take forever to move. I never ran out of patience but I would steal a glance through the rear-view mirror and check whether there was a car behind me. If yes, I would move left and let it overtake. I did this the whole time. I was under constant pressure of being too slow. Things got so bad, I would only prefer to drive early mornings or late in the night. I am sure to have died a thousand deaths, had I ever been behind the wheel during rush hours.  

One day, nothing extraordinary happened. No one said exceptionally inspiring words nor did I read or hear a motivational story and never have I meditated (willingly). However, that day was unusual. I was tired of being a rat, shying away and hiding, running for my life. I was restless because I was not driving. The guilt of locking myself up inside my room got the better of me and I grabbed the car keys. This was the car that I had bought, it was not going to hurt me.

I spent a few quiet moments in the car and cautiously looked around and touched the ignition, the steering wheel, the gear stick, the indicator stick, the handbrake, the ac controls...everything I was about to need that day. My father agreed to accompany me when I offered him a long drive. By the look on his face, I wondered if he was considering putting his helmet on. Anyway, he hopped right in.

I do not remember when I hit the ignition, how the engine roared to life and how we drove around the city. I was immune to the noisy car horns and to the ever so slow pedestrians and even to the iceberg-big buffaloes in the way. I clearly remember parking the car right back in its place, (in the perfect position my dad is obsessed with) and climbing up some success stairs that led to the main door.

I had to conquer my own devils and although I was not really as brave then, but I did win over quite a few inhibitions. Gradually I realised driving is quite like living your life. The way you handle the levers and switch your foot between the accelerator and clutch, shows a lot about your temperament. The only way to get better at it was to enjoy it and love it.

And look at me now! I am all over the place, parking in compact spaces, changing quick gears, racing on highways and dancing in the rains!