I have never understood the allure that some people find for driving. I’ll admit it is freeing to own one’s own vehicle and be able to drive wherever and whenever one wishes to do so. And I also understand that owning a car is a privilege that not everyone can afford. However, for me a car is simply a conveyance for getting from Point A to Point B. I don’t get excited by a big purring engine or a fancy paint job. I don’t need my car to be a mobile speaker system nor is my car my office. One of my primary considerations in selecting a new car is the safety record of the vehicle. Sexy, I know. I most certainly don’t get excited by spending thousands of dollars on the vehicle itself, let alone gasoline, insurance or maintenance and repairs. A car is just another money pit. And speed is just a faster way to get killed, not a freeing experience that substitutes for a chemical high.

On the whole I find the act of driving boring and occasionally stressful. Perhaps I wouldn’t mind it so much if the traffic were free and flowing, but when are the streets of Toronto or highways of Southern Ontario ever clear? A trip to the cottage on a holiday weekend requires a quantity of time, patience and mental health. But the idea of driving the wide-open spaces of rural Canada terrifies me too – what if the car breaks down in the middle of nowhere or I hit a moose?

I marvel at people who drive for a living – the school bus drivers, transit operators, delivery and courier drivers, and long-distance truckers. I cannot imagine driving day in, day out with the potential hazard of small children or hurried commuters threatening to get under the wheels at any moment. I shudder at the challenge of maneuvering and parking large vehicles in non-existent parking in the downtown streets. Then there are the first responders, who risk their lives in snarled traffic en route to a crisis before even arriving at the real emergency. I wouldn’t do their jobs for any amount of money and, for the most part, I just do my best to stay out of their way as they go about their daily business. Admittedly that won’t stop me from occasionally cursing a courier van parked in the curb lane during rush hour. Call it a temporary breakdown of empathy.

The idea of driving in other countries leaves me completely cold as well. For starters, there is the matter of different rules of the road. Am I allowed to turn right on a red light? Am I expected to stop at intersections even if there is no stop sign? Who has the right of way? Then there is the matter of a potential accident. I have no interest in experiencing the vagaries of foreign justice systems, where social status, being a stranger in a strange land and/or bribery are potential wild cards in the outcome of a court case. In these situations, transit sounds like a safe solution. Failing that, taking an organized bus tour or hiring a private driver sound like fine alternatives to me. I really don’t need the thrill of driving on the Autobahn or navigating through the roads of a city somewhere in Asia where I can’t even read the street signs – if they exist at all.

Then there is the matter of driving on the “wrong” side of the road. I have marveled at the courage and quick wittedness of work colleagues who moved to Canada from the United Kingdom, South Africa and other countries where they have driven all their lives on the opposite side of the road. These individuals did not hesitate to drive here and pursue their Canadian license with admirable enthusiasm. In their shoes, I can only imagine myself wandering over the double yellow line to unwittingly create the physical manifestation of a culture clash.

Strangely enough, I don’t actually mind driving in winter weather. As someone who grew up on the East Coast, I drove regularly in the snow. What I dislike a great deal more is driving in heavy rain, especially at night when the lines on the road seem to disappear. Even my allegedly high tech 2017 vehicle, which beeps at me whenever I stray over the painted marks on the road, seems to be struck mute by the rain – just when I most need this feature. So much for technology saving the day. At least in snowy weather there are ruts to follow.

This is not to say that driving is all bad. I have had some of the best conversations with my family in the car. There is something about being forced into sharing the same space but not having to actually look each other in the eye that allows truths to be told and feelings to be aired. I despair that with the advent of smartphones and tablets, those days of forced intimacy may rapidly be becoming a thing of the past.

Despite my dislike of driving, the prospect of losing my license someday also fills me with dismay. My mother was once a safe and assertive driver – after all, she was the one who taught me to drive. But as Mom aged, my sister and I grew concerned as we watched her driving become increasingly erratic. We finally reached a point where we felt that we needed to intervene to have her license taken away. My sister wrote to our mother’s doctor to express our concern. When our mother found out about the letter, she didn’t speak to my sister for months. Eventually the vascular dementia that slowed her driving reflexes also robbed her of the ability to renew her license and thankfully the situation resolved itself. I don’t want to be that person, but neither do I want to have to be dependent on friends or cabbies to get me around town in my old age. Then again, by that time it may actually be a relief to give up the burden of driving.

In the meantime, a more imminent calamity sits upon my doorstep: my children are rapidly approaching driving age. Erma Bombeck once offered the advice to never lend your car to anyone to whom you have given birth. While I find this a solid insight, the kids will not be denied, and I have to face teaching them to drive. I have already determined this task will be outsourced to the local driving school and their step-father. Truth is, the only thing more terrifying to me having to drive is having my kids behind the wheel. On reflection, just about anything is preferable to this prospect. Yes, even driving a tractor-trailer out of downtown to the cottage on a holiday weekend in the pouring rain.