For a long time, driving felt impossible because I had already learned how to build my whole life around not doing it. All I knew was keeping enough money to give somebody gas, catching the RTA bus, ordering an Uber, or walking if the distance looked manageable.
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I stayed ready for the weather. I did because walking meant carrying an umbrella all the damn time, wearing shoes that would not hurt my feet, and checking the sky before I stepped outside. I always needed backup money for a ride because one storm, one missed bus, or one person changing their mind could throw off my entire day.
When that is the only way, you know how to move through the world, you stop thinking about freedom and start thinking only about logistics. How much is Uber? Who can take me? Do I have gas money to give them? Is the bus running? Can I take that walk with my kids? What if it rains?
Every little trip needed a whole damn plan, even if I was only going a short
distance. After a while, staying in the house felt easier than figuring out how
to get out of it.
Isolation made my world physically and emotionally smaller. I barely had a social life. Most days I was shut inside with my kids. Even my first job while going through my divorce was work-from-home. I was earning money and handling responsibilities, but I was still inside the same walls.
Even when my children and I lived with my friend’s family, I began to
understand just how disconnected I had become from the physical world around
me. Life was happening outside. I had gotten so used to being shut away that
participating in it felt unfamiliar.
That is why my first interstate drive was such a big fucking deal. It was a Tuesday in the middle of the day. The traffic was moving like everybody had somewhere urgent to be except me. I was scared as hell.
My hands were tight on the steering wheel. My kids were in the car, and my friend was on the passenger side to guide me with no GPS. My mind kept running through everything that could go wrong. I was afraid somebody would hit me because I was not careful enough. I was afraid of going faster than 65 miles an hour. Every time an 18-wheeler came beside me, it felt huge enough to gobble up my Rolla Cat.
I kept checking my mirrors, looking at the lanes, and
reminding myself not to panic. I did not need to drive like everybody else. I
only needed to stay alert, hold my lane, and get us there safely. The fear did
not disappear just because I was behind the wheel. I drove my Rolla Cat scared.
I drove while questioning myself. I drove with those big-ass trucks passing
beside me and my heart beating like it wanted to leap out my chest. But I kept
driving.
Having my kids in the car made the fear heavier. However,
it also gave the drive meaning. I wanted them to see that Mama can still do
things scared and get that shit accomplished. I wanted them to understand that
courage does not mean you are calm the entire time. Sometimes courage is being
terrified, taking a breath, and doing what needs to be done anyway. Every mile
reminded me that I can do more than I once believed I could, especially when I
am doing it for them.
For almost four years, I used rideshare with my kids to reach some of the shortest distances. Four years of checking prices. Four years of waiting for a driver too. I was getting everybody ready before the car arrived, carrying what we needed, and hoping nobody would cancel.
People who
have always had a car may not understand how exhausting that shit becomes. You
are not only paying for transportation. You are paying with your time. Your
patience and your ability to move whenever you choose.
Now, not having to wait for a ride feels refreshing and earned. I can put my children in our car and go. I do not have to ask somebody for a favor. I do not have to calculate gas money for somebody else. I also do not have to decide whether the price to take an Uber will be worth getting out the door.
That freedom comes with responsibility because I am the one
behind the wheel. I am the one making the decisions and getting us home safely.
Still, it feels good as hell to know our movement no longer depends on another
person saying yes.
Driving has also made me think differently about my
mama. She has never driven and only knows her bike, walking, and depending on
somebody else to take her beyond those limits. I understand that kind of
dependence because I lived inside my own version of it. The difference is that
I am finally breaking away from it. I am talking one drive at a time. That is
part of why every trip feels bigger than the destination.
I have only taken two interstate trips with my kids during the day. I am not pretending I am suddenly fearless. I still think about getting hit. I still tense up near 18-wheelers. I am still learning how to trust myself at higher speeds.
But I did it, and I did it well. The black woman
who once arranged her whole life around buses, walking, gas money, and
rideshares is now driving her children down the interstate. That may not sound
like much to everybody, but to me it is proof that my world is opening back up.
The interstate still scares me. However, dependence scares me more. I know what it feels like to stay home because leaving requires too much planning. I know what it feels like to wait on somebody else before I can move. I know what it feels like for the world to become so small that the walls around you start feeling normal.
I do not want that life anymore. I would
rather grip the steering wheel. I rather take my nervous ass down the interstate
and keep proving to myself and my kids that being scared does not mean we have
to stay stuck.
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