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.)

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Is transportation without the constant scent of fresh hobo pee even transportation at all?

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.

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This whippersnapper has totally forgotten what it's like to walk uphill in the snow, both ways.

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 ...

"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?

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If people didn't want this to happen, they shouldn't have made the
brake and gas pedals look like twinsies.

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 ...

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.

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Unless you enjoyed surgery so much, you want to go back and do it again.

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 ...

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.)

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Nightmare On Rodeo Drive.

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 ...