Slice of Life: On the road in search of a failure

BY SARA VERWYMEREN

All of my life, I have expected too little of myself. A lot of people say the opposite. They say, “I expect too much from myself, and then I get disappointed.” I would venture to say that we expect too little. Let me explain.

Today was a milestone in my little life history. If life is but a breath, then today was a case of bad halitosis. I am 30 years old, have been married for five years, recently gave birth for goodness sakes, and I failed my Manitoba road test. This is the story:

I was sitting in the test center, confident as could be (I know I’m a good driver — apparently, I’m too good) and I waited patiently for my name to be called. A few minutes into my wait, a teenage girl burst through the doors, followed by a woman wearing an orange vest. A few minutes later, sunglasses on and tears streaming, the teenager emerged from the bathroom and approached her wide-eyed mother. She shook her head and the mother’s expression fell. My heart started pounding.

Oh no, I thought, why did she fail?

She began murmuring something to her mom about not being “established in the — something.” What did she say? Did she say it was an automatic failure? Wait — what did she do?

In a panic, I speed-dialed my husband and rattled off a series of questions about what caused automatic failures and what would I do if I got one.

“What? Sara, you’re talking too … Dear, I can’t understand you. What?” he stammered.

“I just want to know …”

“Sara Verrr…wihh..merin..?” called the lady in the orange vest.

Slightly coarse expletive. “Dear … I, uh … gotta go!”

I arranged my hair as best I could and followed the smiling dealer-of-my-fate into the garage.

“Are there any questions you’d like to ask before we get started?” she asked, as we approached my vehicle.

“I … uh, yes. Could you remind me again of the items that result in, um, automatic failure?”

“Oh, gosh,” she said with a laugh, “There’s like a hundred things and combinations, you know? Can you check your brake lights and blinkers, please?”

“Oh … Okay. Yeah.”

I sat in the car, wondering whether or not I would get an automatic failure for putting on my seat belt before or after starting the car — shoot, which was it? Was she watching? And in a few seconds, we rolled out onto the parking lot where I was to attempt my parallel park.

Let me say, ahem, that I am an excellent parallel parker. I can get into any spot. But for some reason, those stupid little orange poles threw me for a loop. On the third try, I finally made it close enough to the curb.

“OK,” she said after scribbling in her folder. “Let’s make a right-hand turn onto the street.”

I was totally rattled. Asking questions (this was a test, of course) was forbidden. I had only my thoughts to myself.

Don’t go over 50. Don’t go over 50. Wait — did she say at the second light we’re taking a left? Slow down over those train tracks and look both — Are those kids coming my way? Stay in your lane. Stay. In. Your — shoot. Wrong lane.

“Establish yourself in the intersection!” she blurted, pointing to the place where I was supposed to be.

Established. Established. Wasn’t that what the teen failed for?! OMG I’m totally going to fail. What is she writing?

A few more commands from the instructor.

For my coup de gras, as I was about to enter the road where the test center was located, waiting for traffic to pass, I stopped too long and made the guy behind me brake. Hard, I’m guessing.

“You should have gone before. That almost caused an accident,” sighed Miss Orange Vest. More scribbling.

“Was … was that … my fault?” I stammered.

I failed I failed I failed I failed I failed.

“Turn left here … Here!”

After I parked in the lot, the tiny shred of hope that all her scribbling was a good thing followed me inside. I was led to a desk where, without looking up, the evaluator let out a noticeable sigh.

“You’re going to have to take the test again.” She then began to explain what the marks that seemed to be all over her paper, meant. Had she been drawing during my test or what?

“You were hesitant about everything. You’re a good driver, but you were so nervous,” she said, putting what felt like toilet paper over my gaping wound. I flushed and thanked her for her “help” and then went to book my next test.

I immediately called Nick, burst into tears and walked the few kilometres of highway back to my friend’s house, who was watching my daughter. Traffic whizzed by me and a thought entered my brain that I hadn’t remembered since college. One time, after I had totally missed a clarinet solo in band, my mother tried to reason with me.

“You set yourself up for failure, Sara. You just get it stuck in your head that you can’t do it and then when you almost do, you stop believing.”

I am notorious for hating to get in trouble. And sometimes I try so hard not to get in trouble, I actually do. I stop trusting who I know I am and wondering if the other person thinks I’m good enough. Trying to avoid failure isn’t trying. It’s avoiding. People who succeed do it because they trust their ability to succeed. They expect a lot and failure never stops them.

Earlier today, I watched a video of a man who was told by doctors he would never walk again. He worked hard, persevered and never, for one minute, gave up. Failure was not on his radar. And now this man runs.

We are built to succeed. We are also allowed to fail. If we always got it right the first time, would we know the true value of trying?

Needless to say, I will not be hesitant at my next road test. Or at least I will put earbuds in and try not to watch the faces of the last test-goers.

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”

— Winston Churchill