The older generation followed husband/wife traditional roles that have gone by the wayside. And why not. Husbands turn out the most savory meals. Wives pop hoods and change oil. Husbands chase toddlers. Wives earn substantial wages.

In our married life, when the two of us traveled together, Bill drove. Though I occasionally offered, he assumed the driver’s seat almost every single drive. Around the town, whether for his errand or mine, he drove. He tended to drive from the passenger seat on those handful of times when I had to drive — doctor’s orders — after which I was glad to hand back the wheel.

Now I drive. Everywhere.

After Bill left me, just as before, I automatically walked to the passenger side. Whoops. That’s not going to work. I’ve had to train myself to head to the pilot seat. In some ways, I’ve given myself driver’s lessons. What is this button? Consult the handbook. I still don’t know how to set the brights. I’ve had to relearn how to drive highways, which included a stop by the patrolman. Lesson learned. Won’t do that again.

It feels very strange to take the wheel time after time. I don’t like it. I reside in a new town and have had to navigate new intersections, merging lanes, roundabouts, crosswalks, on-ramps. It’s not that I haven’t been here many times. I have. I didn’t drive then. I didn’t pay attention. I didn’t need to.

Needless to say trips from here to there take twice as long. Inevitable U-turns take me to the next light and sometimes around the barn. The Map app has become a permanent passenger. I’m restricted to daytime out-and-abouts for now. Other travelers let me know, clearly, how they feel about my driving. My littlebears are very forgiving, plus they tell me where to turn.

I miss my chauffeur. I miss taking care of other business, or shopping, or simply singing while riding. This driving thing… it requires my full concentration. Hopefully soon my knuckles relax and I can enjoy the comfortable back of my seat. Until then, Jesus, please get me there.