Woman Driver

Driving is just not about driving, it’s about outsmarting fellow travelers, jumping corners, closing distances and beating the one-twenty second red light. It’s about haste as we speed on the tarmac ahead of everyone else. We compete every day, the calm ones, the mad ones, the rushed ones, the slow ones, pouring our rage.
It gushes through our mouth as we swerve and swear, exchange angry looks, shine in crude gestures and become less human.

Driving is also about romance, long windy drives on a dark sullen night, old songs on the radio and smiles in our eyes. Or the afternoon run with windows rolled up as it pours from the skies, misting the wind shield, messing with the FM and having to make do with the awful humming of your partner.

Driving is so much more than just driving; it’s a glimpse into who we are and how we deal with what’s going on around us. More often than not I am a poor driver and not because I am a woman, because there are moments when I am less human.