Braking Away: Learning to drive is a true journey of perseverance

I never owned a car. Never learned to drive. Then, at 62, I retired and suddenly felt an urge more common to 15-year-olds. (No, not that urge.) I wanted to break loose—and not rely on others to get me around anymore. At a point when most people begin thinking about giving up their car, I was ready to figure out how to start one.

Oh, there were skeptics. Take the young woman at the Department of Motor Vehicles in Washington, where I live. "You're 62 and don't know how to drive? Get outta here!" she said with a laugh when I called to ask how a person my age might go about getting a driver's license.

I surprised even myself when, less than 24 hours after picking up a study manual, I aced the written test and had my learner's permit.

Then the real test: the practical challenges of the road. Little did I realize that I was also setting out on a journey of self-discovery—of being reminded that you're never too old to pick up a new skill.

I worked with a couple of driving instructors, both very supportive. One told me that he occasionally gets "more mature" students, albeit most of them in danger of losing their license rather than getting their first one.

Helping, too, were friends like Sue, who spent several Saturdays riding shotgun with me. Her mantra: "What happens on the road stays on the road." She was discreet enough to refer to it simply as "the incident" when I rear-ended a car. No damage (beyond my ego).

So after 30 hours of practice, I felt ready for the DMV road test.

Big mistake.

I could have sworn the left-turn arrow at the first intersection was green. The guy with the clipboard sitting next to me saw it differently. The test ended right there. Worse, he took the wheel to drive me back to the test station.

Totally humiliated, I wanted to quit. But my friends would hear none of it.

"You need to get out of your comfort zone!" insisted Sharon, calling from Colorado.

"Why?" I thought. "That's why I retired. To get into my comfort zone. And getting behind the wheel definitely isn't getting me there."

OK, I thought. One more try. So, after six more hours of lessons with my second driving instructor, I was deemed ready to take the test. Again.

Judgment Day 2 dawned dark and gloomy. The bright spot was Mary, a fellow driving student I met while waiting to take the road test. We bonded immediately. At 53, she was younger than I am but even more nervous. Her husband had died a few months earlier, leaving her with a new car and no driving skills.

"I've been praying on it all night," she said over and over as we waited for the exam car.

I decided maybe I should go first.

The moment I turned on the ignition … hard, driving rain. Luckily, I remembered how to operate the windshield wipers. After that, everything was a blur until I pulled back into the examining station.

Then I heard the sweetest words of all: "Congratulations. You pass."

I was dazed. And my deer-in-the-headlights driver's license photo proves it.

I'm still not buying a car, but a rental agency is right down the street. Now, finally, I can decide for myself when—and where—I want to go.

Mary, bless her, may be still finding her way. In her nervousness that morning, she had forgotten her eyeglasses—something the DMV looks even more dimly upon than missing that first turn arrow.

Lesson learned: Prayer may help. But, at our age, bring your specs.

Ron Schoolmeester was an editor at USA Today for 20 years.