Kimberlee K.

I learned to drive in a few different cars, one of which being a red truck.

I got my license on the later side (by non-big city standards) and was extremely nervous to get behind the wheel. I felt like a snail trying to make its way down the sidewalk, with big stomping feet narrowly missing it with each step.

Every car seemed to be going so fast and was driving so close and there were so many rules and things to remember.

One afternoon, while behind the wheel of the red truck, I accidentally turned on the cruise control, so when I tried to ease my foot off the gas, it kept driving at the exact same speed, and I panicked. I slammed on the brakes and swerved into another lane, then swerved back when I realized there was a parked car up ahead.

I was probably only going about 30 miles per hour, but to me it felt like 100.

When I finally came to a stop, I remember crying to my dad, “I am NEVER going to like driving.”

I hated the unfamiliarity, hated the “learning process”, hated feeling like a beginner.

Like so many areas of my life at the time, I wanted desperately to fast forward to when things felt comfortable. But unfortunately, that’s just not how things work.

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I thought of this moment when a girl in my Sunday school class watched in awe as I cut shapes out of construction paper for a craft.

Her hands were awkwardly placed in her own pair of scissors, and she was gripping her piece of paper so hard it had wrinkled.

She was frustrated and watched me with wide eyes.

“You are so good at cutting,” she said longingly.

“I think it’s just because I have lots of practice.”

“I practice too, and I’m not getting any better.”

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It’s frustrating to be a beginner.

Sometimes it can even feel embarrassing.

And while it’s easy to tell kids that it just takes time, it’s hard to maintain the same sentiment as an adult.

We lose our patience, we have higher expectations, we fear looking awkward, getting laughed at, or hearing the question, “what were you even trying to do?”

We forget that we never lose the freedom to flail, and we decide that foregoing the frustration is betting than risking humiliation.

But we just need to practice.

To have the courage to be terrible.

To cut and cut and cut. And drive and drive and drive. Until it does feel comfortable, or until we’ve reached what we realized is our best, even if it’s not the best—because as it turns out, we don’t have to be the best at everything.

Now I consider driving to be one of the most comfortable things I do. I love being in my car, love knowing when and where I can speed up. I find comfort in the rules that facilitate a kind of organized chaos, and I find safety in the confines of a space that is mine.

“I am NEVER going to like driving.”

It echoes in my head all the time.

If only she knew how wrong she was.

She just had to give it time. To practice. To be a beginner.