When I tell people I don't drive, they assume one of two things: Either I never learned, or I have opted to abandon the automobile in my zeal to go green.
Neither of these is true. I'm not particularly green, in spite of living in Vancouver and having a circle of friends who care deeply about sustainability. And I know how to drive, although I haven't driven in almost seven years.
When I was 16, I wanted to learn to drive. My mother said it was an important skill, and it was suggested that driving was an act of feminist independence: You don't want someone to have to drive you around your whole life; and there was a sense that, as a woman, you needed a means of escape.
To save money, my single mother endeavoured to teach me herself rather than spring for driving lessons as she'd done for my two sisters. True to style – she has a habit of jumping into things headfirst – she didn't build my skills gradually with a series of short drives, but planned several long, challenging excursions.
It was on the second or third trip that we drove the winding road on northern Vancouver Island that passes the pulp mill outside Campbell River. The road is narrow, with a drop-off to a cliff on one side. I was terrified of the huge logging trucks loaded with lumber that barrelled down toward me. I found myself swerving, veering away from them, and I almost led the car right off the cliff.
My mother screamed at me to pull over, white-knuckled and wild-eyed. I began to cry. When we finally calmed down, she decided lessons were a good idea.
I waited three years – partly because I didn't want to relive the experience of learning to drive – before I got the lessons, some confidence and my licence.
I haven't driven since leaving Campbell River for the big city in 2003. I was a bad driver as a teenager, not because of speeding or driving under the influence, but from not paying attention. I would become mesmerized by the fog curling over Quadra Island and licking at our coastal town, firs and cedars mere shadows through the clouds. I often had to remind myself to watch the road.
Distraction was a hazard in a small town, but deadly in the city. In Vancouver, the busy traffic and narrow lanes scared me. Fortunately, the city has a great transit system. I could opt out of driving without complications, so I did.
Over the years I have started to feel guilty, though. Everyone tells me driving is an essential skill. “What will you do if you leave the city?” people ask. I try to assure them I can drive – I'm just out of practice.
My lack of skill began to bother me more once I got married. My husband often travels for work. When he drives himself to the ferry or the airport I feel like I'm missing out on a fond farewell and a few spare minutes with him. And the bill for several days of parking while he is gone is unpleasant.
To assist me in my return to driving, my husband and I bought a new car in March. It's an automatic (I never learned to drive a standard), so I can drive it too, although he's the one who needs it for work. I picked the colour, a beautiful red, shiny like a candy, and I love riding in it. But I have hardly driven it. When I try to drive I become nervous. There are too many signs, too many hazards to watch for. I get overwhelmed, and find myself clenching my teeth and sweating.
My husband, having agreed to accompany me until I am comfortable driving again, is patient and calmer than my mother was. He says I know how to drive – I just need confidence. I'm sure he's right, but now winter is coming and I fear this isn't a good time to start. I will probably continue to avoid it, at least until spring.
My failure to relearn to drive is a problem. I worry I have missed the boat on becoming an independent woman. My husband drives us around for groceries and day trips. He even drove us all the way to California, and I didn't take the wheel to relieve him once. My sister picks me up from the SkyTrain when I visit her, and my mother drives two hours to Nanaimo to retrieve me from the ferry.
I don't ride a bike much because I don't like getting sweaty in my work clothes and it's hard to cycle in high heels, so I generally walk or take the bus, or a taxi on really rainy days.
I am dependent on transit. As my husband and I consider having a family, I worry about how I will manage children without driving. I have a horrific vision of myself burdened with a stroller, diaper bags, toys and screaming kids while wedged into the back of a crowded bus.
But I think I would be a bad driver here for the same reason I was a bad driver back in Campbell River: I don't want to watch the road. I would rather ride.
I would rather take in the line of lights on Cambie Street Bridge, or note the bounce of raindrops in a Vancouver downpour. I would rather watch the people outside and imagine their daily lives. I would rather lean my head against the passenger window, angled upward to see the first evening star. The truth is, this world holds so much beauty that I can't bear to be distracted by driving.
Elizabeth Boyd lives in Vancouver.
Illustration by Peter Mitchell.
