Fearof Flying? I liked Erica Jong’s saucy 1973 novel, but I never feared flying. But Fear of Driving? That I can relate to.
When
did my driving anxiety begin? When I realized I was named after a car, the
British racecar the Vanwall? Because my father was a car nut and I wanted to
separate myself from that? When I got broadsided in my mother’s ’68 Impala making
a left-hand turn on busy North 10th Street in McAllen, Texas in 1975
after seeing “The Longest Yard”? Perhaps when I had to buy a car in 1979 for a
summer newspaper internship on Long Island? The 1971 AMC Hornet I bought for $500 from a graduate student was creaky and rusty.
I had to drive from Princeton to Long Island with only a map, fearing for my
life as I negotiated the Belt Parkway and the Long Island Expressway in the dark to Old Bethpage? Fear of getting
attacked in a sketchy neighborhood, the source of panic of Sherman McCoy in the
novel "The Bonfire of the Vanities"?
Fear.
Fear of mistakes, fear of injury, fear of liability, fear of other drivers. Fear
of my ability to respond to split-second situations, fear of not noticing potential danger.
I
spent 11 years without a car when I lived in New York, after I donated the Hornet to Goodwill Then when I moved to
Connecticut in 1991, my then-wife and I got a Saab with a stick shift, and I Iearned
how to drive that. As the decades went on I made reasonably long trips with
other cars. I steeled myself to drive from Westchester County to the Boston
area when my partner Naomi and I visited her daughter and my son up here. Nothing
ever happened although I found I-84 through Hartford nerve-wracking.
We
moved to Massachusetts in April. The Bay State’s fearsome reputation for
aggressive drivers, knowns as Massholes, naturally spooked me. Then I found I
had issues with peripheral vision. Early drives around the area, especially at
night, were terrifying, even with GPS. But bit by bit, I created what I call my
“ant trails” to get from one place to another. Even so, my pulse rate jumps
when I had to go someplace new.
After
living here for 7 months, Naomi and I became a one-car family. We traded in both
our cars for a 2026 Toyota Corolla Cross Hybrid. It’s the first new car I’ve
ever owned.
I
only drove the Cross around the dealer’s parking lot, I couldn’t get myself to
take it on nearby roads. But once we got home, I decided that fear wouldn’t
work. Usually, once I start driving I calm down. I realized that driving is
like sex. The first times are anxiety-wracked and uncertain, but then you
figure out the pedals, buttons, when to speed up, when to slow down, and you
get the hang of it. In theory, anyway. And when you driving a slinky European
roadster like my brother’s Porsche. the rules go out the window.
Pulling 50 years of hard-won driving experience together, I told myself some basics:
- Don’t’ speed. I don’t, I’m that old guy who never goes faster than the speed limit, to the annoyance of people whizzing around me.
- Pay attention (not a problem for me, as I never talk on my phone, rarely listen to the radio, keep a distance from the car in front of you, signal well ahead of turning or changing lanes.
- Obsessively check the periphery, like crosswalks and driveways.
- Pay attention to the GPS and don’t blindly turn into a construction site. I’ve done that before.
- If at all possible, don’t drive at night.
I’m
getting comfortable in the Cross. Gas pedal, brake, lights, turn indicators. It’s
not rocket science.
Yesterday
morning I drove Naomi to a train station for her trip to Stamford, Connecticut
for a weekend with friends. I got there and back. I know my way there. Does my heart go thumpa-thumpa? Sure. But once I get
going, the GPS gives me confidence that I know what I’m doing. Its digital glow
keeps me company and limits memory and guesswork from the car and driver
relationship. It’s like a personal coach saying, “Fear not, you can do it.”
In
the spirit of “Fear of Flying,” I call this calmer state “the zipless ride.”
