I crossed the road alone for the first time in the entirety of my 24 years on earth. Seems silly, but for me it was a big deal. I grew up in a small town that is pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Up until about 5 years ago there were zero stoplights. Sidewalks are scarce, and the middle of town is lined with antique shops run by people who have likely spent their whole lives here. The town is dotted with coffee shops, wineries, and—mostly—bars.
The bakery on the main street is confident enough to have a little vegetable garden out front without fear of people stealing the veggies. But I still thought eggplant was an odd choice. Most places would choose to grow flowers or have even artifical plants up front. Like most parking lots in the city, everything is planned and enticing to the eyes-with purpose. Not the little bakery in town though.
Eggplant it was. Which to me it was enticing and I thought a good pick, but you would never catch a big chain store choosing eggplant for their flower planters.
I recently got my license and I’m a late bloomer when it comes to that. My boyfriend got his when he was 17, meaning he has been driving for an entire decade. Meanwhile I only got my license in the past three months. I went to college from home and took up voiceovers as a way to make money in the meantime. Why did I wait so long? Multiple reasons. A mix of bad timing, anxiety, and lack of consistency. No one was really available to take me out driving. I’d practice, gain confidence, and then lose it again when weeks or months passed before I could drive next.
I cried about it once—alone—out of frustration. My mother found me and told me to stop crying, which only made me want to cry more. Sometimes crying is the only release, the only way through.
Consistency is key, and the only consistent thing I could do in my own power was to ask to go driving with my father, or mother, or someone else. Regularly. And hope someone could be my passenger so I could legally drive with a learners permit.
Eventually I set up my own appointment and that kicked my parents into gear to take me out more. And so I drove regularly almost everyday for the two weeks leading up to my test. And here I am now, licensed.
I was right about one thing. And that is that even with a license, I don’t really have anywhere I want to go…and there is no one to go with. I have my mother but she tires easily. Going places alone is okay, but it’s not fun sometimes.
The town is small. That small stretch of road with the antique stores is really the only place I have gone alone that isn’t a grocery store or a library. And there isn’t much to do besides hiking, which I have refused to do alone so far.
That, and the heat makes most things unappealing. I thought maybe going places I’ve always wanted to go would encourage me when I’m still builing confidence.
Two weeks ago I took my mother with me to the antique stores. We only managed about an hour out before she became tired and her back hurt, so of course we went home. I left with a $2 ceramic rat Parmesan shaker from the 1960’s—his eyes were the holes where the cheese came out. Strange, but I loved him.He was cute, so I thought.
The stores were packed because it was a saturday. The town looks small when you’re driving by, and it is. But when you’re on foot, and seeing all these places, all the people… it feels really big.
The next day I went back out with the excuse of wanting to get this handmade stuffed elephant I saw the other day. I kept thinking about how cute it was when I slept, I barely actually got much sleep. When I know I’m driving somewhere the next day I find that I toss and turn with excitment and anxiety. A mix of the two. The only way to fall asleep is to count back from 1000 and hope I can slip into sleep.
So I went back for the handmade elephant. He was handmade by local artisans. Another thing about small towns is often they have farmers markets, everyone knows eachother, and there are often hoards of local artists who put their creativity to use. There is a store that sells nothing but handmade products from local artists. One-of-a-kind little trinkets or gifts.
To give a demonstration about how rural it is. There were handmade ‘rooster collars’ in the store. They’re made to muffle the noise that roosters make, but not to stop it. It’s literally a collar for a bird and it is effective without being bothersome. See if you can find handmade rooster collars in a store while in the city. I don’t think you will find them!
The elephant that caught my attention was floral print, with black cloth circles for eyes. Handmade, imperfect, stitched with care. He also had a yellow, green, and red ribbon tied around his neck-very festive. The thing about handmade or local artisan items is that just like the antiques…there is a chance you may never find the same one ever again. Antique stores can’t re-order the same items that you saw last time and didn’t purchase. Same with some of the handmade gifts. Even the little elephant.
So I got him.
And then I decided to go visit the other antique stores once again. The one with the weird ceramic pig that was ugly and covered in polka dots. or the ones that had numerous old record players, sewing machines, and porcealin dolls that were showing wear and tear.
Maybe antique stores are an odd thing to like at my age. My parents are a big fan of them, I think it brings back memories. My boyfriend isn’t a fan unfortunately.
Some of the store owners are like vultures. One recognized me from the previous day. A little old lady with silver hair and who unfortunately talks A LOT.
Some of them watch you like hawks, seeing if you will want to take off with the vintage wash board that has probably been there for who knows how long. Maybe you might stuff it in your shirt and walk out. Who knows.
“Can I help you with anything?” They ask.
More so it translates to, “What are you doing?”
When I left the store without anything in hand after doing the same the previous day, she told me, “Just remember, if you can’t sleep tonight because you saw something that you didn’t buy, it might not be here tomorrow!”
Or something along those lines.
That was also the day I had to face something bigger: crossing the busy intersection by myself. I had never done it before. I pressed the button(assuming it’s even good for anything), watched the red hand, and waited. Cars stopped for me even while the sign still told me to wait. My mind spun with questions: Was the light broken? Was I supposed to go anyway? What if the light turned green while I was still in the crosswalk?
Obviously traffic has to yield. But in my mind…one that overthinks, I tend to always want to know the correct steps for things that should be obvious. I think it’s a lot of self-doubt. I don’t want to make mistakes, and I want to do things right. But I’m still learning. To anyone else, it might have seemed simple. To me, it was terrifying. But I did it. I walked across the street alone.
I also found out that there is another danger; people. I became so anxious eventually I called by boyfriend so I could pretend to be busy when I had to pass the local bar, fearful of any drunkards. A group of men stood around a pickup truck, talking and laughing. They didn’t even glance at me, but old fears stirred—the kind that come from surviving things you never asked for. I called my boyfriend just to have a voice in my ear as I walked past. No one bothered me, but the fear was real, as it always is when I’m alone.
You can never be too careful in my opinion, and even if it’s a bias, I guess I could say it’s saved me more times than I can count to be cautious of the literal other half of the human population.
I’m aware of my downfalls. The fact I’m small, not very strong, and when I’m in danger I tend to freeze up. Bad combination. But I promised to invest in a tazer and pepper spray. And hopefully everything works out.
I felt relieved when I did get into the car. I also then discovered I forgot to lock the car up, which I definately did not tell my parents when I got home…
Later, driving home, I made a mistake that haunted me all night. I was behind a truck towing a mobile home on a steep, blind incline. The driver pulled over and waved me to pass. I went around him before realizing how dangerous it was. Never pass blind. Never trust a stranger’s wave. My father later told me about a movie villain who lured people into head-on collisions the same way.
I promised myself: never again.
It may not sound like much—crossing a street, buying a stuffed elephant, driving myself home—but for me, these are steps. Scary, awkward, messy steps toward independence.
And today, I crossed the road alone.
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