An early morning drive is meant to be perfection. But I think driving is over rated. Everybody talks about how liberating and therapeutic driving is. But I feel none of that. All I feel is the immense pressure of keeping pace with the changed gears, of avoiding potholes, of releasing the clutch smoothly, of saving people who walk right in the middle of road or people who ride bikes as if it’s their audition for Dhoom 4.
My brain does not even keep track of the music that’s playing. Even if it’s John Mayer, which speaks a lot about how consumed I am in the act of driving, of making it through the road. I can barely register my surroundings because I am singularly fixated on the expanse of the road and the vehicles which occupy it. That disturbs me. Because constant vigilance is what I do, observe everything that is around me. It comes across as fighting against my nature.
People stress me. Sometimes I think that the stress has nothing to do with driving, but is more about the person that I am. I can’t stand being confronted with a multitude of people in non driving situations as well. They terrify me and it is only after some time that I warm up to them. So It could have helped if the roads were deserted, but how many such roads will I be able to find.
Every one offer their two cents on driving to me. I take it all in. It never helps but eventually befuddles me more. My ineptitude at driving will be pinned to my gender. Isn’t it what they say, that never trust a woman with a steering wheel. I want to make this work. Among other things, I can’t stand another prejudice being thrown at my face. But, somehow I don’t see a bright future with this. In spite of all the time and commitment, this will be one of the things that I cannot do.