Driving and freedom

I've never had what would be considered a "normal" driving record. I never took a driver's ed class. My dad taught me how to drive while I was staying with him one summer in Florida. After failing my driver's test the first time because the instructor in the car wasn't clear about how far they wanted me to back up, I received my license on the second attempt around the age of 18 years old. Even so, I wasn't able to totally appreciate having a license to the fullest because I could not afford a car in high school. I was lucky to have good friends that were willing to give me rides here and there, but it was a source of embarrassment and shame for me to have to depend on others.

I moved to Florida for my freshman year of college. I drove my Dad's white Jimmy truck to and from campus, as well as work and ended up buying a very cheap little white car that was on its last life. It truly lived up to the title "POS" (ie, piece of shit), yet it got me from point A to point B....that is until one unforgettable accident. I was on my way home from work at Publix, less than a mile or two away from home. I was in an unprotected left turn signal lane and there was someone on the opposite lane going the other way that was in my blind spot. Being a foolish 19 year old at the time, I thought it was clear and went for it. Once I turned, I saw a pickup truck coming towards me and it was too late. I put my foot on a gas pedal that had little to no pickup and was sideswapped. The car was totalled. No more car for Katie. I must admit, I still have a little PTSD-ish anxiety around unprotected left turns to this day.

The summer of my freshman year of college, I moved back to Texas and drove my mom's big ass conversion van. Again, it was mainly to and from work or school when my mom said it was ok for me to use it. It felt weird to drive such a huge vehicle. If you saw me driving it (the short girl that I am), you'd have chuckled. When I transferred to SWT (or Texas State University, as it's known nowadays) a few years later, I was back to square one. No car whatsoever. I think I very well could have gone 2 years without driving once.

Summer of 2001 rolls around and suddenly I am faced with driving a very LONG Penske truck from Reno, Nevada to a little country town near Lexington, Kentucky....after not having even driven ANYTHING in years. I was nervous, to say the least. I did well, despite a minor incident of hitting someone's tail light in a very claustrophobically small parking lot while turning around. Again, this was close to our destination in Kentucky. I can't remember if I helped Mom drive the Penske truck when I moved to Chicago months later in December 2001.

After moving to Chicago, however, I went my longest stretch without driving/having a car: 6 years! Driving a car to get around was a non-issue with Chicago's great public transportation of buses and trains. It wasn't until I decided to make another move (in yet another Penske truck, though not as long as the one I drove in 2001) that I found myself apprehensive and in unfamiliar driving territory again. In early March 2008, my friend Carla accompanied me as a driver in my journey from Chicago to Seattle, WA. She did most of the driving.

I drove my mom's car a few times back and forth while I was working part-time at the BBW last summer, but otherwise I was roughing it out with Seattle public transit. I went 10 months without driving a car and it was very exhausting, as well as oppressive. My work commute should be about 20-30 minutes by car and it was taking me an hour to an hour and a half...one way. Traveling so much during the week left me tired, lazy, and unmotivated to go anywhere by bus for anything else other than work a majority of the time. I really wanted a car, but I just could not afford it.

Chris made plans to visit me in May and I ended up renting a car for us to drive during his stay because I wanted us to have the freedom to go wherever we wished. Not surprisingly, I was nervous as I drove the two of us from the airport back to my apartment (a 35 minute drive, around 1:30am no less!). I drove a bit more that weekend, feeling a little more comfortable as time went on and yet, I have not had a chance to become totally confident and comfortable with driving because I have not been able to drive on a regular basis for years. Starting today, this is a whole new world for me.

I have been hesitant to get a car up until this point in my life due to my financial situation. I wanted to feel confident in my ability to pay car related bills responsibly. Yesterday I had a deal practically slap me in the face, one that would be ridiculous to pass up. My mom told me about a great deal my stepdad recently found on a 2 door Toyota Yaris. Her rationale was, 'it can't hurt to go to the dealership and talk to the guy' to get information and look at the cars. Off she and I went. After taking a look at my budget, I slept on it overnight...or I should say I barely slept, eager and excited about all the places I could go with my own vehicle.

I signed a 3 year lease on a red 2009 Toyota Yaris today! It still feels surreal....to drive and travel solo, something most people take for granted because driving all the time is the standard norm. I think I'll appreciate my new car that much more than the average person for this very reason and for all that it embodies for me now. The question now is....what to do with this newfound freedom? :)

Glock, stock, and barrel

(Picture on left: Marked bullet holes are the ones I fired...some of the other holes could have been my dad or me).

While visiting my family in Florida last week, I had the privilege of experiencing something I have never experienced before....shooting a gun. I had no idea what to expect, thus I kept my expectations to a bare minimum. This was the best possible mindset for me to have, especially since I know myself well enough to know that if I thought about it too much, I might freak myself out to a point where I would change my mind about following through with the bold (for me) undertaking. The United States seems to have such a cavalier attitude towards guns, that to most people shooting a gun may not sound like that big of a deal. Not for me though.

Although it has always been "normal" for me to see my Dad carrying a gun when we'd be out and about (he's a cop), I have had a very standoffish and slightly fearful attitude towards guns. I didn't like them and never even considered using one! I'm not sure what changed my mind, perhaps my unquenchable and curious thirst for new experiences. I like pushing past my comfort zones and challenging my perceptions, especially when it comes to proving myself wrong. Yes, I am that rare human specimen who would rather be proven wrong than right. Call me crazy, but I get satisfaction from being reminded that the human imagination can conjure up some real doozies that most times aren't reflective of reality. For instance, we humans have a way of thinking the worst possible scenario or making inaccurate assumptions. Prior to my experience of having shot a gun, my mind created images of me accidentally shooting myself or freaking out that I could unintentionally hurt someone else, drop the gun, get hit by others in the range....and this was me fantasizing at the bare minimum! Imagine what I could have conjured up in my mind if I had REALLY thought about it. With that said, my motto (as much as possible in life) is "Feel the fear and do it anyway"(also the title of a psych/self-help book, fyi)....so I did it. :)

First came the gun instruction with Dad. We sat on his couch in the living room and he showed me his .40 Glock. He showed me how to load the bullets, told me a little bit about the mechanics, and told me I needed to say "I got it" when he handed the gun over to me (safety precaution). He also showed me the proper way to hold the gun when in shooting mode, as well as posture. Knees should be slightly bent and according to Dad, "It should be a surprise" to hear the gun go off if you pull back on the trigger with the padded tip of the index finger ever so slowly.

Seeing as it was the day after July 4th, the Shoot Straight gun range was pretty dead inside (yeah, bad pun, huh? haha). This was fine by me considering having more people around might have heightened my anxiety. We walked into the place and there were guns everywhere. Teeny tiny size guns, medium sized handguns, and shotguns. There were also lots of dead animal heads on the wall. Again, such a thing would have bothered me in the past, but I was open-minded to experiencing something out of my usual realm of comfort and understanding.

Dad and I approached the counter to "check-in," meaning we had to sign our names on a sheet with the time. I laughed when I saw the three options of gun target pages hanging behind the counter: the standard human body silhouette outline, one that had smiley/sad faces, and this is what got a chuckle out of me....a laughing zombie. Not your average run of the mill looking zombie, but a laughing zombie. Those gun folks sure do have a sense of humor! Even though I was tempted to get the zombie target paper, I was intent on taking this new experience seriously...mainly because I really wanted to know how skilled I would be at something that I barely just learned from Dad's brief gun instruction "lesson." I went with the body outline.

Before heading back to the area where the shooting happens, I was told that I needed "eyes and ears." I put on the plastic glasses and ear muffs. Dad and I walked through the double doors of the target practice area. There must have been about 8-10 "stations" where people could go to stand and shoot, though only half were occupied. Bullet casings filled the floors around us, the temperature in the room oppressively hot. Dad took out the contents of his gun bag: Glock, magazines (for those not in the know, that is what you load the bullets into and then load into the gun), and bullets. I was starting to get really nervous. This was really about to happen, no backing out now. I had to rise to the challenge, no matter how scared I was starting to feel. Dad told me I could change my mind and stop at any time if I wanted to, but I didn't want to give in to my fear of the unknown.

I approached the mini gun 'counter' and focused my eyes on the target 21 feet ahead of me. I concentrated on doing everything exactly the way Dad told me to do to the best of my ability. As you can see, I did pretty well. Although my arms were a bit shaky at times from nervousness, 60 rounds later I left with a feeling of accomplishment. Once again, I have surprised myself at being able to do something I had not previously fathomed I was capable of doing. My dad repeatedly told me I did well for it being my first time with a gun. I thought maybe he was exaggerating or just saying so to be nice, until he told me that some fellow cops he knows are poor shooters/too cocky to learn how to shoot a gun well.

I can't say shooting a gun was "fun" per se, nor can I say with certainty whether I will shoot a gun ever again. What I do know is that it definitely wasn't what I expected, in the best possible "prove me wrong"kind of way.