Driving Places is Hard When You Don’t Listen to Your Brain

Am I the only one brave enough to say it?

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Photo by frank mckenna on Unsplash

I would become a licensed driver.

Except, over the last few years, I had developed this complex about driving. I hated it. It terrified me.

Moving Day.

On moving day, we convoyed three vehicles, a huge moving truck and one scared and excited family to their new future. Luckily, I was not drafted to drive the moving truck. Again, I don’t think I was ever in the running for this duty.

In the present day, I’ve discovered that it is not so much the traffic and other drivers that freak me out but instead the idea of getting lost.

I am so afraid to get lost. I’m sure this must be akin to some kind of deep-seated childhood abandonment trauma or something. But I’m not self-aware enough to get into all of that.

So there I was, back on the road again — my logical thoughts and manic brain about to go head to head in a battle royale.

I neared the Calgary city limits, and the familiar voices of my double-sided brains began.

With this sudden turn of events, my 4-hour road trip had turned into a five and a half hour extravaganza.

It was rush hour by the time I finally turned around on the seemingly abandoned secondary highway. I somehow traversed back to the main surface street, which I should have taken in the first place. It was bumper to bumper traffic with me in the thick of it. I was ugly crying and again talking to myself, asking the gods why I was so shitty at everything in the world.

Written by

Mother, writer, user of too many hastags.

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