Bài đọc 2
I passed my driving test last month, at the age of forty-five. My teenage son, who passed his own test the same year, has not stopped laughing about it.
I grew up in a big city where nobody I knew owned a car. Buses and trains took me everywhere I needed to go, and later, when I moved to another city for work, I simply chose a flat near a metro station. For twenty-five years, not driving was never a problem. Then my company moved its office to a business park outside the town, and the journey by public transport suddenly took nearly two hours.
My first lesson was a disaster. I had expected to feel nervous, but I had not expected my hands to shake so much that I could hardly hold the wheel. My instructor, a patient woman called Ruth, told me that adult learners often find it harder than teenagers. "Young people don't think about what could go wrong," she said. "Adults think about nothing else."
She was right. My biggest problem was not my skill but my fear. I could change gear and use the mirrors perfectly well on quiet roads, but as soon as a lorry appeared behind me, I panicked. Ruth's solution was simple: she made me describe out loud everything I could see as I drove. "Red car parking on the left. Cyclist ahead. Lorry behind, but he's keeping his distance." Speaking kept my mind busy and stopped me from imagining accidents.
I needed forty-two lessons in total, almost twice as many as the average learner, and I failed my first test because I drove too slowly on a main road. When I finally passed, I cried in the car park.
What surprised me most was how much the experience changed me outside the car. Learning something difficult in middle age reminded me what it feels like to be a beginner, and I think it has made me a more patient manager at work. I have also signed up for swimming lessons. My son is laughing about that, too.