Rear-ending

It is a Sunday morning in August. Abby and I are sitting in my grandpa’s old car in the coffeehouse parking lot. She has her feet up on the dashboard and turns the volume up on the “Catfish and the Bottlemen” album. We have just finished a bucket of iced coffee and pancakes, and Abby grins. She’s a year older and very used to driving me around all of the time. But the tables have finally turned; it is my first successful breakfast trip with my best friend and brand new driver’s license. This time it’s me behind the wheel.

I smile at my newfound sense of freedom as I put the car in reverse to pull out of the coffeehouse parking lot. The lot is gravel and tiny, with woods lining the perimeter. I am sandwiched tightly between two cars and the treeline behind me. I pull out slowly, nearly backing into the woods and turn the wheel to the left.

“You’re not going to make it,” Abby says, “You’re going to hit the car’s bumper.”

“No, I’m not. I’ve got it,” I reply, confidently. 

And as if in slow motion, I turn the wheel until it won’t turn anymore, greatly underestimate the space between me and the car, and tap right into its bumper.

My hand shoots to my mouth in shock. “Catfish and the Bottleman” still plays “Longshot” at full volume. Abby and I sit there in silent disbelief for a moment. 

“Sarah,” she finally says, tapping me back into reality, “You need to park. You need to park the car again and get out.” 

Fast forward about an hour later, and my newly earned pride has fallen apart. I have completed the walk of shame back into the coffeehouse, asking almost every table if they drive a red Lexus. We find the not-so-forgiving suburban PTA mom whose car I hit. She is not happy as I lead her away from her pancakes and show her the small dent in the rear bumper. I apologize relentlessly and explain it's my first day with my drivers license, but she doesn't care. Her blonde bob bounces cockily and her nose furrows up at me. I am humiliated, and Abby watches on sheepishly.  After calling my Dad, crying on the phone, desperately apologizing, and exchanging numbers and insurance with the PTA mom, I was more than ready to get out of the coffeehouse parking lot and not come back for a long time. 

This story is something I laugh about now, but it certainly was not funny in the moment, (and the weeks following paying insurance and getting lectures from my Dad about car safety). Driving takes time and practice, and pulling out of a tight parking space is certainly not something to fly through carelessly. Just because I received my license doesn’t mean I’m incapable of causing damage. It's gone to show me that I’m not going to be an amazing driver the first day on the road.

In fact, it’s shown me that I’m not going to be good at anything the first time around. Any new skill takes patience. I’m not going to be a math wizard the first day of Calculus class, nor am I going to sound like an opera singer at my first voice lesson. I have to work for it, pay attention, and put in the effort to get results. I can’t expect to be flawless at something I’ve never done before.

This is an extremely valuable lesson because it applies to basically every aspect of life. We as humans are constantly growing and evolving and learning. If we go into a new task with the mindset that we are somehow above starting from the beginning, we’re doomed to fail. You won’t be a master at something if you think you’re bound to know everything already.  

After (quite literally) getting some sense knocked into me, I took the time and patience to drive cautiously and humbly. Areas of driving that I once was horrible at, such as pulling out of a parking spot, improved immensely; even to the point where my friends complimented my driving abilities. All I needed to do was practice and not assume every new skill is easily acquired. I have fostered this mindset in other areas of my life too, and have found that by doing so, I feel less pressure to be perfect. When you take the time to put in the hard work, you’ll always see results.