Wobbling at speed
Some observations on fear
I forgot to mention at the time, but I finally passed my driving test just over a month ago. It was a relief to get it on my first attempt, because if I’d failed, I’d probably have had to wait six months for another one (paying for lessons all the while).1 Plus I had to do it in a different test centre from where I’d learned, and in an unfamiliar vehicle, because some uninsured lads had crashed into us during my penultimate lesson, and written off my instructor’s car – so the odds were very much stacked against me.
To my surprise, I really enjoyed learning to drive. I got lucky with my instructor, and ended up with someone even nerdier than I am. He had thought very hard about the best ways to teach his students all the various techniques, and as we got to know each other, he started to observe my learning style and adapt his teaching to it. My progress became a common project, and before we set out for each lesson we would often discuss what he had planned for that day, and decide on what we both thought would be the best approach.
I took longer than many people do – including the six-month wait for a test, I was at it for over a year – but over that time I assiduously polished my skills, and nudged my comfort zone ever-so gradually, so that I was almost never in a situation I felt unequipped to handle.
So it came as a great surprise to me when I drove onto the M1 motorway just outside Sheffield, and was suddenly more frightened than I think I have ever been in my life.
I’ve spent more time talking about fear than most people have. This is partly just because I’m an overthinker with too much time on her hands. But it’s also because I’ve been asked so many times whether what I do is safe, and had so many people cast doubt on my sanity for doing things like working as a cycle courier, or riding my bike solo across a continent.
