5 Things I've Learned As An Adult With No Driver's License

5 My Self-Worth Fluctuates Based On Where I Live

New York was the perfect place for a non-driver to hide in plain sight. You could even boost your self-esteem by becoming one of those condescending assholes who's fluent in public transportation and judges everyone who isn't. "Did you hear that noob ask if the A was running express? Who doesn't know that at 11 p.m. every other Wednesday, the A transforms into a commemorative plaque of Kanye's VMA speech?" (Answer: probably a noob who knows how to parallel park.)

All of that false bravado would vanish as soon as I ventured outside of the city: to visit friends in the suburbs, while on vacation, or anytime the words "road trip" came up. During these jaunts away from comfort, I would regress into a hapless backseat child, whose schedule was dictated by whoever my adoptive driving parents happened to be that week. These temporary bursts of humility made me long for New York, where I was no less outwardly incompetent than anyone else. Whenever one of these trips came to an end, I returned home with a sense of calm, knowing I would soon regain control over my life.

Then, I moved to California. I live in a walkable neighborhood and rarely need to leave it, so I don't feel too hindered by my inability to drive. But, this is a car-centric city, and I can no longer hide the fact that I'm terrified of something that's a basic fact of life for my friends. Being confronted with this gaping hole in my skill set after years of avoidance has reacquainted me with my high school insecurities. No matter how much I've accomplished, I can't help but compare myself to everyone who manages to get on the road everyday -- 16 year olds and octogenarians alike.

What do they have that I don't? Aside from a driver's license, a semblance of confidence that would really come in handy sometimes. Because ...

4 It's Horrifying To Be Left Alone In A Car That Isn't Legally Parked

"The car should be fine here," they said. "Just move it up a few inches if the cops come." Like, do you understand that you're entrusting me with property worth thousands of dollars? That I have the potential to destroy in all of two seconds? Illegally?

When my mom attempted to teach 15-year-old me how to drive, the first thing I did was panic on a corner turn, hit the gas instead of the brake, and drive her Toyota Corolla onto the next-door lawn, stopping inches away from the house. (No one lived there at the time, but still.) I haven't been behind the wheel since I was 18, during a fleeting New Permit High when I thought I might be capable of driving without killing anyone. I know that inching up or moving to a parking spot is second nature for drivers, but both are terrifying to me. And when I'm terrified, I panic. And when I panic, I ... well, I drive onto people's lawns.

Hollywood (and certain plants) made this seem way more fun than it actually is.

I know this makes me the worst person to have in your car and maybe a bad friend in general. Believe me, I think about it a lot. Because after a while ...

3 I Worry That My Driving Friends Kinda Hate Me

OK, they don't hate me. But, I know I make their lives slightly more annoying, even if I shell out gas money, say thank you, and remain cognizant of the solid they're doing me every time their car is involved.

The thing is, I have great friends who don't treat me like a leech (at least, not since high school). It's possible they feel fine doing the odd pick-up now and then. But, this is a favor I am unable to repay. I can repay their generosity in other ways, but I'm not the friend you call when your car breaks down or when you need a ride home from surgery.

And as someone who's benefited from specific, car-related favors, I do sometimes feel like a garbage person for not counting "helpful in cases of emergency" among my friendship offerings. This says more about me than it does the grievances -- real or imagined -- of my friends. It's actually one of the more motivating arguments to take some lessons and get a license. But then, I get protective over my not driving because ...

2 Everyone Wants To Solve "The Problem"

Despite being licenseless in Los Angeles, I've found ways to remain quasi-self sufficient. I walk most places, work from home, and call a Lyft when necessary. This is to say that, excepting a few friends, no one is harmed by my not driving. If you want to be an optimist about it, maybe I'm even slowing the destruction of our planet!

But, no matter how OK I am with my current arrangement, someone is always there to carsplain the alternatives to me. Some people suggest biking in the interim. (Side note: Maybe the only thing that scares me more than driving is biking next to people who are driving.) Some launch an investigation as to when I plan on getting a license, because I live in LA now and can't possibly survive without one. (These are usually people I don't know and who will never be affected by my licensed status or lack thereof.)

I'm aware of the benefits of driving and how my life would improve if I overcame my fears. But, these inquisitions make me feel like I have a nagging mother-in-law who wants to be a grandmother before she dies. And for what? I'm not hurting anyone. No one should be made uncomfortable by the fact that I don't have a license. It's not a value judgement on people who do. It's not as if I don't watch TV or eat animals. Learning to drive is something I need to do on my own time and isn't an attack on the American Way. I'm not avoiding it to be a contrarian -- I'm avoiding it because I need the inner resources (and the financial resources) to address whatever psychological issues have kept me off the road this long. That, and ...

1 Not Driving Becomes A Part Of Your Identity

Sometimes, I imagine an alternate universe me, cruising down the 101 like I'm in the opening credits of The O.C. I know the songs I want to play at full volume and the friends I would want riding shotgun. I can see this version of myself, and the prospect of meeting her in the future excites me.

But, when you've spent your whole life not driving, it becomes part of who you are. It informs your decisions and lifestyle. It sharpens certain skills and dulls others. I know exactly how much to purchase at the grocery store without my arms breaking, and I can converse with just about any stranger. I'll probably never need a gym membership again. I'll admit, I sometimes get immense pleasure from the idea that maybe I'll never, ever learn to drive. It's rare in America! A triumph in its own right. And after 29 years, it seems like a more accessible goal than the alternative.

Of course, accessible goals are not the stuff of dreams. It would be more meaningful to unpack the trust issues I have with myself and work toward getting on the road. It would be more exciting to pick up a friend from the airport. And, of course, it'd be more valuable to never hear the words, "So, when are you getting your license?" again.

Imagine how harsh the world would be if you needed a license to access the Internet? Adam Tod Brown thinks you should have to. Read why in 5 Everyday Activities That Should Require a License and, if you don't have a license, don't feel too bad. Driving is a hellscape populated by deranged ticket-dispensing police officers. See the worst of it in 6 Completely Legal Ways The Cops Can Screw You .

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