I am learning to drive at 30 years old 🚘

Rural village life and a dubious bus service forced my hand, and I'm grateful for it...I think 😳

I have been holding on to a deep sense of shame and failure about not being able to drive for years. If I was to ever be a guest on How To Fail, it would absolutely be one of my failures, such is the impact that it has had on my sense of self worth.

When we moved to our little cottage in rural East Sussex, I knew that it was going to challenge me in ways I had never been challenged before. I knew that I would be grappling with feelings of guilt about not being able to pull my weight during the move, or pick James up at the station when it’s dark and cold and waiting for a bus feels like the very last thing you want to be doing. I knew, I knew, I knew. And yet, less than a month after moving in, I did not expect to be booking my theory test and buying a ‘DVSA ultimate bundle’ that comes highly recommended for learners aged 16-18 on Amazon (I am 30).

James and I talked about my lack of a driving licence at length before we even made an offer on the house. He was concerned that I would feel isolated; I reassured him that yes, it might be tricky, but there’s a regular bus service and I need to learn to drive at some point anyway and I’m sure it’ll all be OK. As far as I was concerned, that was that. With the will of my eternal optimism, my glass half full, all would be well.

Dear reader: it was not well. We quickly discovered that, particularly during the colder weather, the local bus service often cuts out our village due to overbearing trees on already narrow country lanes, or road closures, or road works that a bus physically can’t fit around. Twice, we went to get on a bus in the nearest town, only to be told by a bemused driver that no more buses were running into the village that night and to find another way home.

It became abundantly obvious that we needed to buy our own car, and I needed to start driving lessons. But then, I lost two regular clients in as many days, and our oven hob malfunctioned, and it all felt completely and utterly hopeless. I started to resent our house and all that it represented for me in that moment: failure, failure, failure. I was failing, miserably, and I had convinced myself that there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. Me? In control of my own life and decisions? Surely not.

After several meltdowns, one depressingly cold and soulless dinner and a constant stream of unwaveringly supportive messages from my best friends, I woke up on Wednesday morning to the most spectacular sunrise I had ever seen and thought, “f*ck this. I need to get outside. I need to breathe air into my lungs and marvel at amber leaves against pastel pink skies. I need to show up for myself.”

20 minutes later and I was striding purposefully down the lane, leaves crunching underfoot as I walked past smoking chimneys in the early morning light. It was therapy, this walk. It felt like I was shrugging off the shame that I had been carrying for so, so long. I came home feeling lighter and more in control than I had in weeks.

As I sat down at my desk, I knew that I had to put my newfound resolve into action immediately, or risk letting it fester and fade away. I opened my laptop and typed in ‘theory test booking’. Before I could change my mind, I chose a random date in February, paid my £23 fee and booked the test. There it was. The thing that had taunted me for years; the process that I had avoided out of abject fear and hatred of a system that is forcing me to learn a skill that is so far outside of my comfort zone, it may as well be on Mars. I had cleared the first hurdle. It felt really, really good.

I emailed a local driving school about booking in some practical lessons, ordered my study materials on Amazon (plus the third ACOTAR book as a little treat for my bravery) and sat back, euphoric at my sudden burst of productivity. I am going to do it, and it might take several goes, and there will undoubtedly be failure baked in, but it’s happening and I can’t go back.

The sense of relief, of letting go, was immediate. I want to bottle it, hold on to it forever, keep it nestled in my back pocket so I can brandish it whenever I’m facing something that feels scary or overwhelming. I’m so proud of myself.

If I still lived in a bustling town or city, would I be having this epiphany? Would I be learning to drive when I’ve spent the last 13 years perfectly happy without a car? Maybe not, and maybe that’s exactly it. Our life circumstances dictate the choices we make, the challenges we face.

I am 30, and I’m learning to drive, and I might not be happy about it in a few weeks’ time…but I sure will feel glad that I gave it a proper go.

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Are you a non-driver in your thirties like me? How do you feel about it? Leave me a comment, let’s talk about it!