What passing my driving test at 47 taught me about writing and perseverance.

It's 2010 and I've just turned 40. Although born and raised in rural Sweden, I've lived all my adult life abroad, mostly in London, UK.  We might frequently moan about the British capital’s public transport, but truth be told, there’s hardly any need for a car in London. Consequently, I rarely, if ever, missed having a driving licence. 

Then, out of the blue and in the nick of time as my elderly mother's health started deteriorating, I decided to move back to Sweden for a few months in the late autumn of 2010 and for the first time ever I not only wished I'd been able to drive, I cursed and swore at the fact that I did not, on a regular basis. My temporary accommodation was in a tiny village far from everything, including of course shops, with only twice daily buses to the nearest town. My nearest (and only) shop was a good 20-30 mins walk away. Good exercise for sure, but some 4 weeks into my stay the snows started arriving and stayed put for the entire remainder of my time in Sweden. Several times a week I could be seen, a bundle of winter clothes (ridiculously brightly coloured, as I'd been warned about the local elk hunt taking place in autumn), trundling to said shop - the only shop for miles - cursing and muttering to myself about the cold and the distance and I usually like snow! That was it, my mind was made up - I was going to get a driving licence.

Fast-forward to late spring 2011 and I was finally back in London after a stint doing guidebook research in Colombia and ready to commence battle. Only I didn't know at the time what a battle it would turn into. Up until then I had had a few lessons with my dad at 18, which nearly led to some quality patricide in more ways than one when a) I nearly went into a ditch, mixing up accelerator and brake pedals and b) desperately wanted to throttle him as I found him far too impatient (and nervous). There was also a scarily memorable lesson in London in my mid-20s, when my instructor, who insisted on doing the whole lesson in Spanish after I confessed I spoke his native tongue, took me around London's Hyde Park in rush hour on my first lesson, leaving me traumatised for years to come.

This time around though, I was older and braver and much more determined. What could possibly go wrong? 

My first instructor in London was, upon reflection, quite frankly in the wrong job. He used to run a restaurant before and was clearly used to a completely different job and environment. Although described to me as a very patient instructor, within one lesson I could easily imagine him having words with chefs and restaurant staff. He instilled in me such a fear of not changing gears fast enough, that I'd be forever slipping gears and nearly losing control of the car at roundabouts and junctions, worrying he'd give me a hard time about my slow gear changing, when it would have been far better if I’d paid attention to the road and what was going on around me.

It didn't take me long to realise that learning in London wasn’t just a battle, but a losing battle - there was too much traffic, too many people, too many white vans breaking the law at every turn. My instructor, though, was adamant that I had to pass "as soon as possible" and in part I felt he was right, I did want that licence after all. Passing my theory test with flying colours - one mistake, I think - I was sadly nowhere near ready to pass my practical yet. Time was ticking on and by now it was early 2012. My driving was not improving and in order to stand a better chance of passing, I booked an intensive course in Abergavenny, Wales. If possible, I got on even less well with my instructor there and to top things off, my mother went into hospital in Sweden that same week, adding to the stresses in a different way. As it was, I didn't even attempt to take the practical test at the end of my week, I was so sure I didn't stand a chance. (Instead I went to the wonderful Angel Hotel in Abergavenny for Welsh tea, but that's an aside to the current theme).

It was late spring, about a year after I first started learning, that I finally attempted the practical test, this time in Dorchester, Dorset, and even though I didn't pass, my failure bizarrely filled me with confidence. I only made a total of four mistakes, unfortunately including two serious, which is an automatic fail, although you are allowed 14 minor faults in total.

Next time, I thought to myself, optimistically. As it was, another 5 1/2 years were to pass before I would finally get there! I had to redo my theory test, not twice, but four times - not just because the results are only valid two years, but I also had the misfortune to fail the hazard perception element of the test once, having not done any actual driving for months.

Don't get me wrong, it's not as though I was driving every week and was an exceptionally slow learner (although it has to be said I was hardly very fast). Instead there'd be months on end when life and/or work would take over and I'd need to be away over longer periods, either on guidebook writing assignments, or helping elderly parents in Sweden (and a driving licence would obviously have been useful for both). Each long absence, although not bringing me back to square one, certainly felt like it allowed me to wave to square one from only a short distance away. 

Over the years I tried all sorts - I drove a friend's car, I had lessons in London and elsewhere, I did intensive courses in Wales and Dorset, I read theory till I was blue in the face and feel fairly certain I still remember most of the highway code. I changed instructors several times and soon learned that they weren't all in the right job, I changed test centres and types of cars, but nothing seemed to break my spell of bad luck - regardless of how good a driver you are, you still need things to come together on the actual test day.  I failed on the manoeuvres, I failed on roundabouts, I failed on stalling and failing to move off safely and finally I failed on speeding - something I'd never even done in a lesson before! But finally, finally it was my day! 

Since the summer I had been determined to pass, and to pass in London, despite having to take most of last year off to spend it in Sweden to help elderly parents. Having failed in June, July and October, the morning of the 6th of December, my test date, dawned with a terrible sense of doom. New test rules had come in two days before and I had only had two lessons to practise the new stuff. I'm not usually nervous, but the night before I only managed to squeeze in some 3-4 hours sleep. So convinced was I that I'd fail, that nothing could shake my bad mood. I just wanted it over and done with and was already planning my post-test lessons. (Yep, it's amazing anyone can pass with that attitude, but after so many failed tests, I simply could not believe I'd finally pass.) Nervous as all hell, I drove more calmly than usual and passed with 2 minor errors. I could hardly believe it! It’s taken time to understand that by NOT passing straight away, you do become a much better driver (although passing a bit quicker would have been nice). Essentially, I have already been driving for over six years and sure, there are plenty of things I still need to practise, but I have already done big city driving (and plenty of it), rural, narrow country lanes and everything in-between, at all different times of day and pretty much in all weathers. I've known for some time that I can drive, but I've repeatedly failed to get the proof.

So, what's all this got to do with writing? First of all, if you truly want something, don't give up. If it's worth your time, money and effort, then it's worth fighting for and there's no point giving up until you've reached your goal. Perseverance is key when it comes to many endeavours and this is perhaps especially true in the writing professions. 

There is another lesson hidden in there too. I realised, I could change instructors, cars, test centres, the works, but ultimately, I had to keep honing my skills before I could pass that final hurdle and get my licence. The same goes for writing - you can change agents, publishers, editors, writing environments and everything else, but sometimes what you really need to do is keep learning, keep writing and perfecting that manuscript. Until it's ready.

When it comes to learning something new, maybe something that doesn't come naturally to you and you have to work a bit harder at it, it's good to have support around you. Kate in Wales had the patience of an angel, booking all my intensive courses, putting up with constant date changes to accommodate my various familial crises over the years and I had three fantastic instructors - Jim in Dorchester, Norman in Bangor and Maria in London, to whom I'm extremely grateful for their patience and encouragement (especially Maria who finally got me there, so to speak). I also had plenty of good support from friends, even if it did include quite a few stories of how they passed on their first attempt, which I could handle with reasonably good cheer the first few years. Some stopped asking about my driving for fear of embarrassing me, but that was actually a better approach than those who kept saying "are you still doing that?" or worse "you're not still doing that, are you?"

It's been a long road, but getting my licence is the best Christmas present ever!

Road trip, road trip, road trip!!!!