For most of us, driving is a love-hate relationship. A driver’s license brings ultimate freedom, but the road to getting one is stressful and challenging, with a handful of near-death experiences thrown in.

The first month is the hardest. Once you graduate from parking lots to main roads, it becomes a game of narrowly avoiding panic. Of course, during the first twenty minutes of driving, all is well. I’m cruising along thinking, Look at what a mature adult I am. Watch as I flawlessly execute this turn and masterfully brake at this stoplight. [Mother’s voice explodes in the background] “Slow down! You’re about to rear end that truck!” [Car screeches to a halt as I freak out and stomp the brakes.]

Don’t even get me started on the four-way stops, the construction zones, and the parking lots, all of which bring horrors of their own. And then, of course, there are the pedestrians. I won’t lie: pedestrians freak me out. Every time I drive past someone, I envision myself clipping the poor soul and sending them flying like a rag doll.

Even worse is parking. Everyone has that one part of driving that drives them up a wall (pun totally intended). For me, parking is it. Whenever I try pulling into a spot, the battle of Me vs. Steering Wheel ensues. I want to go one way; the steering wheel wants to go the other. I imagine this process would be interesting to watch: me, floundering like I’m wrangling a crocodile slathered in butter, and my mom, holding on for dear life.

Sometimes, I think my mother’s van fancies itself a romantic, because every time I enter a parking lot, it attempts to pair up with the cars around it. I’ll start to park, and then the wheel will rebel against me, trying to turn in the direction of another vehicle. And before I know it, our van’s turn light is about to make out with a Chevy Impala’s side mirror. It never ends well.

And don’t even get me started on driving in reverse. My brain just can’t sort out how I’m supposed to back up to the left by turning right and vice versa. Once, I almost hit the car behind me, so my mom reached over and started to turn the wheel herself. I then found myself at a crossroads. Should I let her turn the wheel? Should I hit the brakes? Should I turn the wheel in the direction she’s trying to turn it? Is this even legal? I couldn’t understand what my mom was yelling, because at that point, stress was clogging the pathways in my brain. But by the providence of God, we somehow made it out.

Now, I give props to my mom for teaching me how to drive. Though I take driving seriously and dedicate a laser level of focus to the task, I can also be a worrisome student. Several examples stand out:

1) Before I earned my permit, I’d seen one-too-many “Fast and Furious” movies. So, when I finally got behind the wheel, I assumed driving would be a lot like a car chase. I was so excited, my mom had to tell me to calm down. For a while, our dialogue sounded like this:

Me: “I know it’s wrong to cut people off at an intersection, but if I were in a car chase-”

Mom: “This isn’t a car chase.”

Me: “I know it’s against the law to weave in between traffic going the opposite direction, but if I were in a car chase-”

Mom: “We aren’t in a car chase, Jenna. Just drive.”

Me: “Hey, if you’re in a car chase, can you go over the speed limit?”

Mom: “JENNA, THIS IS NOT A CAR CHASE!”

You get the gist.

2) When I drive, I concentrate hard. I like to think I’m becoming one with the car. However, this concentration is interpreted differently by others. I’m thinking, Look at what a mature adult I am. My mom’s thinking, She looks like she just slammed down the panic button. In my mind, I’m confidently gripping the wheel; from my mom’s point of view, I’m white-knuckling it. In my mind, I’m casually leaning forward to get a better view of my surroundings; from my mom’s perspective, I’m trying to imitate Speed Racer. I mean, obviously I am, but that’s not the point.

3) Recently, I attempted my first restaurant drive-through. I considered it a success; my mom considered it a valid reason to question my sanity. We went to Rosa’s, a Mexican restaurant. After I pulled into the drive-through lane, my mom instructed, “Drive up to the speaker and open the window.”

Looking down at the controls, I saw four switches. I had no idea which opened my window, so I pressed them all, lowering all the windows simultaneously.

“Hi, I’d like a dozen tortillas please.”

“Coming right up.” The staticky voice said something else, but it was too fuzzy for me to understand.

“What?”

More white noise.

“They’re asking if you want anything else,” my mom said, fighting to keep her expression neutral.

“No, please – I mean, no, thank you,” I stammered, then hastily sped away – at least, as hastily as you can in a drive-through lane.

When I pulled up next to the cashier’s window, there was a vast space between me and the building. Channeling my inner Elasta-Girl, I reached out and paid for the order, then shimmied my upper body back into the car and proudly presented the tortillas to my mom.

Mission (awkwardly) accomplished!

My mother has her moments, but overall, she’s the best teacher I could ask for. The other day, after someone nearly backed into me, she gave me the best piece of advice I’ve ever heard:

“When driving, assume that everyone is an idiot. If they’re not, it’s a pleasant surprise.”

I find this applies to many areas of life.

Though driving is difficult and at times frustrating, it yields a valuable payout: freedom. It has also pushed me to levels of focus I never knew I could achieve. But a driver’s license must be handled with maturity, which is to say, unfortunately, no car chases.