As a kid, I desperately wanted to be able to drive. I would sit in the back of the car when Mum or Dad were driving us somewhere and I’d pretend that I had a steering wheel and a gear stick and would do the driving too.
My driving test was one of the few tests growing up where I actually outperformed my brother. I never considered there to be any chance I wasn’t passing first time, even if my driving instructor decided that my first lesson would be dedicated to the practice of using my brake.
Years ago, a group of us went go-karting and I won. A bit like my driving test, it was probably the first time that I actually beat all my friends at anything. Unfortunately that skill round a track occasionally hasn’t translated to perfection on the road.
I can also be a little bit of hypochondriac on behalf of my car. I tend to know when things aren’t right; I knew when a wishbone was broken on my second car, I can feel worn breaks and I can very easily tell worn tyres through how the car feels to drive. I didn’t realise this was unusual until a large proportion of my friends told me that they couldn’t.
Maybe it’s my friends who are the odd ones out but, for the purpose of this post, let’s pretend it’s me.
My tyres were changed this week. The car was very fidgety even at lower speeds beforehand. They’d been fine when the car was serviced in December but seemed to rapidly deteriorate. When they were changed, they’d apparently gone down to canvas on the inside shoulders of the front tyres, so I think it was a good job I decided it was unsafe to bomb down the motorway last Saturday!
So I’m going to force two metaphors out of this one! Well, one with two parts at least. I think my bald tyres were another metaphor for trusting your feeling and when something isn’t right to do something about it. That doing something about it gives you a solid platform to push forward properly, and quickly, to wherever you want to go.