Two More Wheels

About fourteen years ago I did something that I'd forever hold close to my chest out of sheer embarrassment. I took the knowledge test to get my learner's drivers license. Yup, that collection of 30 basic, common sense questions that everyone knows the answers to, even if they've never been that interested driving in the first place. The test that my older brother and sister (and all their friends) had successfully completed to little fanfare. The test that I took and absolutely bombed.

Which, even though no one criticized me about, is quite inwardly humiliating when you secretly consider yourself as one of the "smart kids". I passed it on the second try a couple weeks later, paying for it myself because my parents' offer to pay for tests only extended to the first attempt.

Looking back, I'm not 100% sure why I failed. It might've been because I rushed through it, or because I didn't study hard enough. Either way, overconfidence of some sort.

After passing and receiving my learner's permit, I decided I was going to take a drivers course. This'd shave a solid 6 months off of the time I'd have to wait before I could take my road test and be licensed to drive on my own. I was so into this idea that I used all my birthday and Christmas money to pay for most the course, while my parents picked up the remaining balance.

To this day, I'm still not quite sure why I was so hot on the idea to get my license - my interest in cars/driving wouldn't actually start to develop for another four or five years. But I was determined, so I took the course, and practiced, and took the road test, and failed.

That was in part to two things. First was some vague instructions from my examiner which led to a close shave pulling out of the parking lot, was an automatic failure. Second was the fact that I was nervous as hell. I can still remember how absolutely how dry my mouth was, and how shaky I felt afterwards. It's pretty unnerving having a grumpy old guy sit next to you, silently taking notes on everything you are (or aren't) doing. Pure, unadulterated, government-mandated judgement of the highest degree.

For the record, the even that caused the automatic fail wasn't really a close call. It wasn't one of those "Holy crap, what was I thinking, that was almost an accident" moments, so much as a "Whoops, I was a bit of a dufus there" moment you have from time to time. Or maybe you don't, and that highlights my problem.

Anyways, more self-shaming and practice ensued, as well as forking over more of my precious (and dwindling) savings for a second road test fee. I don't remember much of that attempt except I was still unbearably nervous, my examiner was a relaxed middle-aged woman, and (most importantly) I passed. It was a pretty big relief.

A few years later, after learning to drive a standard transmission in the dark in the rain, owning two different cars, and hauling myself (and all my belongings) over the Rockies in a tiny Civic, it came time to get rid of my New Driver designation. To do that I had to take another road test.

I brought a water bottle this time, which didn't help douse my nerves at all. So I failed. For doing 30kmh in a school zone during school hours. Turns out the sign didn't post the 30kmh designation, so I only needed to slow down if there are actually schoolkids in the area. I didn't know this was even a thing.

I'd like to think I failed for being too careful, but I guess you could say I failed for not knowing the rules of the road and potentially being a hazard to other traffic.

I eventually said "screw it" and moved to a different province where my beginner's license was automatically upgraded to a full one without the need for an examination. But the damage was pretty much done, as it appeared I had established a bit of a theme when it came to me and road tests. It's a pretty swift kick to the confidence to fail so routinely at something you think you enjoy and think you're good at.

I've had one parking fine. Aside from that, I don't have even one point on my license - not so much as a speed camera ticket. But I have been in one accident. I wasn't ruled to be at fault, but the damage was done regardless (physically to my car and emotionally to me). Though the footage clearly showed that the other guy was trying to run the orange light, it didn't stop me from beating myself up about it. I went without a car for a couple years, not just because I was living on a student budget, but out of a form of twisted self punishment. It was a bit scary getting behind the wheel again.

A safe driver? Yeah, I'd like to think that's me. I still have the odd "that was a dufus thing to do" moment, but for the most part I try to be smart/responsible, and I think I do okay. But somehow all my tests and failures have soaked in like a stain on whatever 'car guy' status I'd like to think I have. Aside from whatever automotive trivia I try to cover up that ghastly splotch with, maybe I am, afterall, just another shitty driver out on the road that doesn't deserve their license.

Thoughts like that kinda eat away at a guy.

The other weekend I took a motorcycle course. I had been idly considering it for the past couple years, and thought it'd be a solid way to recognize a birthday/milestone that I hadn't really celebrated for myself. I hadn't even so much as sat on a bike in my life when I registered for the course.

I took the in-class session, and was the only person there furiously taking notes. I did the weekend course out on a parking lot, on a lil' Yamaha Virago 250. It was hard to grasping onto the idea of a linear 1-N-2-3-4-5 transmission, let alone having the mechanical wherewithal to make my hands and feet operate fairly opposite to what I'm used to in a car. My balance isn't so hot, either. I dropped my bike once, doing a slow speed maneuver. I got caught between a twitchy throttle/transmission, questionable balance, and not looking at the horizon.

But such accidents are what these driving school loaners are made for.

At the end of the course, we immediately had the road test. I was supposed to go second, but due to a paperwork snafu, I got bumped up. Filled out the paper work. Strapped on an ear piece, and put on my gear. Told nerves, "screw it" and hit the road. Shoulder checked and mirror checked. Signalled, watched my speed. Somewhere in there I also forgot my signal and shoulder checks. But I plowed through.

At the end... I passed. The only thing the examiner marked me on was one spot where my balance wasn't too great. Either I did a slightly better job than I thought, or this clipboard-wielding, old Asian dude was really relaxed and forgiving.

Either way, I felt like I had finally shed some of this negative vehicular licensing karma that had hung around my shoulders for so many years. I finally passed something on my first try, as if I was a capable motorist that knew what they were doing.

Here's the thing - riding a bike still scares the crap out of me. I need to be looking straight ahead if I need to come a stop, which makes me fairly timid when approaching various merges. My balance still isn't the best; I'm a bit jerky when pulling up to a stop, and executing tight corners still freaks me out deep down. But when you get to lean into an apex and power your way out just right... It's definitely a good feeling.

Seems like everyone I talk to about my newfangled motorcycle license tells me about a motorcycle-related horror story they or someone close has experienced. Riding still scares me, one part because of my vulnerability to other drivers, one part my own inexperience. I'm hoping I can slowly grow out of the latter, and maybe keep a bit of the former.

Yes, passing my test has been a nice little confidence boost of sorts. But that isn't a guarantee for anything, and in a weird way, it's nice to be doing something that scares me.
-Cril

It's not a big motorcycle
Just a groovy little motorbike
It's more fun that a barrel of monkeys
That two wheel bike
We'll ride on out of the town
To any place I know you like

First gear (Honda Honda) it's alright (go faster faster)
Second gear (little Honda Honda) I lean right (go faster faster)
Third gear (Honda Honda) hang on tight (go faster faster)
Faster, it's alright

Beach Boys - Little Honda '64

In The End

I have a small iPod. 16GB, I think, which means it's actually about 12GB once all the wonders of technology have taken their toll. I totally don't have room to fit my entire music library, so I tend to keep a core selection of the good stuff on hand, and use the remaining 2-3GB to rotate through other material.

I have three playlists in iTunes that I regularly use to keep the music a-flowin'. The first is called "Ugly Children", which sorts all the tracks on my iPod by how many times they've been skipped. The next, "New", is for all of the... New music I listen to. Usually it's two albums and some other scraps that I listen to for a couple weeks while I decide if they deserve to be kept or not. My final playlist, lovingly named "Temp", is where I cycle through the neglected tracks in my whole library that I haven't heard in the longest amount of time. It lets me dig up good hits I might've passed over, and delete others that don't quite do it for me any more.

So using this concoction of logic and whimsy, I try to keep things rotating through my earbuds. As I 'fall out of love' with an artist or genre, it gets filtered out via Ugly Children, and makes a reappearance in Temp a year or two later, where I decide if I want to put the music back into my active collection, totally delete it from my library, or just send it back into the void to be revisited in a few more years. That last one is pretty much the equivalent of a "meh".

Lately Temp has been bringing me the the very first tracks that started my library, after I got a 4GB iPod Mini by working for my uncle's business over spring break while in highschool. Tracks that had an obscene amount of plays, but none of them recently as I had long since fallen out of love with them. Some Beatles and miscellaneous classic rock that I inherited from my parents, some swing/jazz from my saxophone playin' days, a dump of Ray Charles that my uncle gave me, and... Some terrible, cringe-worthy emo stuff. You know, some Evanescence and Linkin Park.

Like all troubled and emotional young men in highschool, I was 'troubled' and 'emotional' in highschool. I had my ass kicked all over town by a nasty depression which amplified the standard-issue teenage angst. I forget how I got into it... Maybe listening to the radio in the family Caravan while driving myself to doctor's appointments, or in the computer lab while hustling up my best game of lunchtime StarCraft.

Regardless, I think that Meteora by Linkin Park may have been my first album purchase, like, ever. I bought it, ripped it, and listened to it again and again and again. Then I bought Hybrid Theory, and did the same. And then because I was so desperate for more and they hadn't released any other original material, I bought Reanimation, their album of remixes. I was just so angsty and life was so tragic and Linkin Park was the only people in the world ever that could possibly articulate how I was feeling. I even bought a shirt.

Looking back, it's all so predictable and borderline embarrassing. The music itself hasn't aged well stylistically, the rapping is kinda weak, and the lyrics are so, so heavy-handed. But here's the thing; It was the very definition of cathartic. For that kid, in that situation with all the isolation and fear and frustration, it was exactly what he needed to cope with the weight of living.

Today Chester Bennington, the lead singer of Linkin Park, hung himself.

Say what you want about the rest of their early music, but that dude had some proper pipes. And you could tell he'd really given 'er on those recordings.

But even moreso, I feel kinda cheated. These dudes were the guides through my troubled years, and I figured that if anyone had figured out how to cope with some kinda darkness, it was them. Maybe this is just one more case of gazing long into an abyss and having it gaze back into you. Or maybe this is just another case of not having a clue about anything, and life being more complicated than it appears.

What am I supposed to say here? I guess... Thank you. For your art.

I haven't listened to Linkin Park for a long time, and I suspect that won't change any time soon. I'll see it in another couple years, when it makes another appearance in Temp, and be reminded of those dark days and dark feelings. And be reminded of how, for a time, this was exactly what I needed. And now maybe I'll also appreciate that everyone isn't so lucky.
-Cril

It's easier to run
Replacing this pain with something numb
It's so much easier to go
Than face all this pain here all alone

Link Park - Easier to Run

Boulevard Utensils

What if?

That's possibly one of the most dangerous questions to ask, because you know there aren't any satisfactory answers. No matter which direction you try to peel back the lid, you'll still end up with some of that crappy wax paper seal that was designed to come off easily yet never does. Those little flakes just fall off into the food the more you try to clean up the mistake. Gah.

"Women want a guy that's interesting. Lots of guys can be nice, and that's just the bare minimum for a social interaction." Well damn. Makes sense, right? I stumbled upon this the other day and I found myself wondering, "Am I interesting?"

I think so. Just a little bit. Went to art school. Went to art school in New York. Bought a Porsche. Dated a unique girl or two. Do some freelance, build some computer, play some instrument.

I mean, I sure haven't backpacked the Appalachian Trail, worked in a Vietnamese cafe, or ridden a train across Ukraine. I play it safe, and often times plain. There's a lot that I haven't done, perhaps moreso than I have. But I have a couple things in my corner.

And that spawned the What If of New York. Which direction would my life have veered had I not gone? Most likely, there wouldn't have been a veer of any sort; rather just a steady resolve to maintain the mundane.

So what if I hadn't have gone to New York?

I'd still be working the same job I'd had since highschool. Not a bad job, per se, but limited room for income and growth. I wouldn't have worked at an agency. I wouldn't be working as some sort of hoity-toity international consultant, with the occasional trip outside of my country.

I wouldn't have bought the Porsche. I think that extra year of school, with the combination of financial strain, total exhaustion, and loneliness, gifted me the hard-won perspective on what mattered. That maybe, just maybe, if I can survive on my own in this world-class city on my own dime, I can survive having my own adventures. Maybe it's okay to cross that sportscar-shaped item off my bucket list.

I actually sold that car recently. I had my enjoyment, and it was a great learning experience of both a mechanical and personal variety. But it was time to move on to other adventures, and as much as I had loved that car, it was a bit irresponsible to take on such a responsibility without the proper facilities to care for it. Truth be told, the squeaks and bumps and repairs had started be a drain on me. I can forsee myself returning to the House that Porsche Built, but not at this moment.

Anyways, New York. Or not.

I think without my time there, I wouldn't have gotten the time I needed away from an unhealthy relationship to grow a backbone. To have the ability to say to myself, "Hey, this isn't okay and I deserve to have an opinion on the matter." If I never went to New York, either I'd still be bleakly attached to that person, or we would have utterly imploded in a much more painful manner than we actually ended up doing.

I'd probably be making a lot less money, too. I doubt I would've bought a mandolin and taken lessons to go along with it. Instead, I probably would've doubled-down on gaming. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing in and of itself, but there's something to be said for variety.

And I think if I had never gone to New York, I'd be a totally different person. It was such a kick in the pants of my low confidence to know that I can arrive at a place where I didn't know a soul and within a day hustle myself up an apartment to live in. And then find a place to live until I could take possession. And then find somewhere else to live when there was a one month delay. And then, in the midst of finals and interviews and portfolio shows, have my landlords decide not to renew my lease. Pack up, clean, find a place, move out. I was so, so exhausted. But I made it.

And you know what? New York helped me to appreciate some of the beauty in the world. It taught me to sing and dance to my music when I go grocery shopping. How to love all the green space. And to just recognize that there are marvelous things outside of my own little sphere of existence.

Ripples, man. If I hadn't gone away for that year, there is so much more than just my education or travelling experience that wouldn't have turned out the way it did. I'm glad things have gone the way they have.

I'm still not the most interesting person out there. But it's nice to know that I have a little something in my corner.
-Cril

We know, we know, we belong to ya
We know you built your life around us
And would we change, we had to change some

We know, we know, we belong to ya
We know you threw your arms around us
In the hopes we wouldn't change
But we had to change some
You know, to belong to you

The Decemberists - The Singer Addresses His Audience