my first solo road trip

Today is a heavy day. I went back and forth about writing this essay, as it has nothing to do with what we are witnessing in the world right now.

Before I begin, I want to share this article by Bill McKibben which I found clarifying in understanding the oil of it all as well as heartening in its positive note about solar panels (a much-appreciated rec from my mom during our collective family evening meltdown).

On the 30th of January, I embarked on an epic1 quest and drove myself approximately 482 km (a pleasing conversion to 300 miles) across France. After a rough start that involved a vitriolic (on my part) and silent-except-for-the-occasional-uncooperative-beep (on its part) argument with the somewhat curmudgeonly sat-nav in my parents’ Citroën because it refused to talk to the google maps on my phone, I was off. I did not win this argument and did manage to gently (not gently) and patiently (not patiently) convince it that Lyon is a city in France that I could, in fact, drive to on account of it being a real place that exists. A little arrow and blue pathway (begrudgingly) appeared. After a bucolic winding beginning, I hopped on the A89 and drove until I reached Lyon. Yes it is more or less one road.

Was the tussle with the GPS strictly necessary?

I hear you ask.

Can you not, Stephanie, remember one road?

A valid question. To which I say, listen. The amount of bucolic windey windey2 at the beginning and Lyon with its tunnels were not for the faint of heart.

Now, I hear you3 interrupting again:

Why are you telling me this?

Well. This year, culminating in this drive, represents the conquering of my slightly ridiculous but very large (and I mean anxiety inducing, palms sweating, legs trembling) fear of driving. And, thusly, a feeling of having regained - in the car dependent country in which I (unfortunately?) reside - a sense of independence and freedom.

Let me explain.

The year is 2013. I am home in Stockholm, I’ve just turned 20, and I decide now NOW is the time to finally (ha! if only I knew) get my driver’s license. I start lessons. I take three lessons to get out of second gear. I show up to take my test and - oh no! - Sweden had recently changed the law and I no longer qualify to take my test in Sweden. I did not attempt to get a license in the US when I went back to university because in New Hampshire I would’ve had to do driver’s ed with high schoolers and - as a distinguished college student - I wasn’t going to debase myself by spending Tuesday afternoons sitting in Hanover High.

It wasn’t until the fall of 2016 that I got up the courage to organise lessons for myself. I found a driving school, signed up, and a very nice elderly man came to pick me up in Clapham4. Although some of the driving came back, fear had started to grow around my heart. I was waiting to be picked up for my fifth or sixth lesson when I got a call from the driving school. My lovely instructor had (irony of ironies) been in a car accident and broken both of his legs. Was it me? Was I cursed? were the first two rather self-centred questions that popped into my mind. Obviously both ridiculous but a self-defining myth around never being able to drive was slowly forming. The driving school were very sorry but they didn’t have another instructor available and they would call me when they did.

Life skipped along and I moved into a flat in West Hampstead5. It wasn’t until a full year later that I got up the courage to tick “organise driving lessons” off my to-do list. I actually could not tell you anything about this man who re-re-taught me how to drive. What I can tell you is the fear and anticipation that overtook my physical being was akin to the forest that grows up around Sleeping Beauty’s castle, thorns and all. The day of my test arrived and all I remember is how I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. I got through the painstaking 50 minutes6 and thought there was a reasonable chance I had passed. I looked over at the examiner and watched as he checked the little box on his obnoxious clipboard next to the dreaded word ‘FAILED’. I’d only had three minor faults (you’re allowed 12 or 15) but I had committed a major fault. I had left my indicator on for too long whilst joining a major road, thus misleading any drivers behind me. DOES THAT SOUND LIKE A MAJOR FAULT TO YOU? DOES IT? I am so fine and over that experience. Don’t even worry about it7.

Dear Reader, I was not fine. Especially because my (horrible) boyfriend at the time responded to my tearful phone call informing him of said failure by laughing. He was delighted that I (someone who does not love failure nor cope with it particularly well - but tbh who does?) had failed. He wasn’t nice. And thus8 a dragon entered the thorned forest around my heart. Even the thought of driving made me want to curl up and (not to be dramatic) die.

I did finally get my driver’s license on the 19th of November 2019. It should tell you a lot that I did not even have to look up that date it is so lodged in my memory.

I was now living in West London between Hammersmith and Chiswick and my driving instructor’s name was Sim. He was the absolute best. He dealt with my anxiety so gently without infantilising me9. When the day of my test came, he sat in the back of the car and was such a brilliant cheerleader. After I’d parked the car back at the test centre, I endured a few agonising minutes where the instructor completed his assessment on his IPAD10. Then - much like a gameshow and I imagine one of the few joys of being a driving test examiner - he pressed one last button and turned his screen towards me as it flashed green with the word I had been wanting to see for so long ‘PASSED’. Honestly, I’ve never felt relief like it.

Now I won’t (for everyone’s sanity) go into the story of getting my US driver’s license when I moved. Please just know that I did in fact cry when I realised that I had to do another test. Even though this one was on an automatic car and lasted approximately 8 minutes11.

So to recap:

2013: first driving lesson

2019: UK driver’s license

2024: US driver’s license

You’ll notice that I am writing this post now in 2026 (and your skills of observation are admirable). After getting my driver’s license, I did not drive. I felt like I couldn’t. Every time I had to, I would think about it for days beforehand. It terrified me. And I felt such a deep sense of shame about it. I also resented EVERYONE. Everyone was driving. It was so easy. I just needed to get on with it. It started to feel like I would never feel comfortable driving. I was living in a country where independence and driving are inextricably linked. I felt like such a failure. Again.

I hear you interrupt a third time. I very much respect and appreciate your adherence to the rule of threes.

Are you going to wrap this up? Is there a point?

The answer to both of these question is (thankfully) yes.

This year, I got a job in DC. Now, my public transport commute went like this: uber to Baltimore Penn Station (around 30 mins from calling it to getting there plus getting there 10 mins early just because), get MARC train to DC Union Station (around an hour), red line for a couple of stops (getting on red line and sitting on red line and walking to theatre - let’s say 20 minutes). As you may have calculated, this process took me around 2 hours. It was a little untenable as much as I love a train.

Or.

I could drive. I tried the train journey, I really did. Such was the continued power of the ever densifying Malificent-filled evil forest. But I couldn’t do the 4+ hour commute. It defeated me. Or rather to continue the metaphor and perhaps add a positive spin: it became my surprising Prince Philip cutting through the cursed forest.

I got in the car.

I started - at the ripe old age of 32 years old - to drive to work.

I know how ridiculous this sounds. I also hope that given the background, you understand the personal feat this was. Anxiety is no small thing. I burst into tears many times on my solo drives - sometimes because I was proud of myself, sometimes because I was terrified.

Slowly, my confidence grew. This was aided by the ABSOLUTELY SHOCKINGLY INSANE behaviour of Maryland drivers. Honestly, I won’t go into it now but yikes.

I then had a second contract in the fall that required me to drive to Annapolis. I would not have been able to take that job if I hadn’t been able to drive. This time, driving felt freeing. I started to enjoy my time alone - blasting music, listening to podcasts, sometimes just having time to think.

There were also, of course as with anything new, some snafus. Filling up with petrol for instance was an interesting adventure. It was embarrassing to admit I had never done it by myself before. Also I don’t know why I find it tricky. It is not hard. It is meant to be an easy system. And yet I have failed on multiple occasions and needed people to help me. Also, I am always worried I’ve done it wrong and that the car will explode as I drive away from the station.

I very much do not want to live somewhere where I have to commute regularly by car but I am grateful that I can without my brain telling me I can’t.

Cut back to: me driving across France.

This year started with me driving back from Lyon on the 1st of January. I spent some of that time doing some reflecting, I chatted with friends, I listened to podcasts. Without a care in the world, there I was driving an unknown (to me) route for five hours by myself. I took myself on a trip with just snacks and something resembling gumption12. As I drove, I enjoyed the view, firm in the knowledge that 2025 - for all of its other wins and losses - was the year I conquered a fear that has loomed large over my adult life.