- License to Live -

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"The greatest danger in times of turbulence is not the turbulence; it is to act with yesterday’s logic." Peter Drucker

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When I was younger, despite my aspirations to travel, learning to drive always seemed nothing but a chore. I had taken lessons at 18 with two different instructors, attempting to drive a manual car and when I failed my written exam by two marks decided to throw in the towel on the whole venture. There was plenty of public transport, I thought to myself and stuck to it in the years to come. My then collie Magik, became a regular on the bus and in my memory was only refused passage a handful of times. I took busses and trains all over Norfolk and down to London, on occasion I even took the train across country to meet up with my parents for family holidays, dogs in toe.

My parents and siblings, all learnt to drive as soon as they possibly could. I think there is a desperate need for escape and independence for most teenagers, and getting your license as young as 17 in the UK certainly facilitates that for most. In my family though, I think the need to travel comes from a deeper, perhaps even ancestral place. We seem to be built for adventure and throw ourselves into travel and the unknown with an almost startling blasé attitude.

I grew up often on the move, living in several different countries and my siblings too, continued their adventures abroad when leaving home. My oldest brother still resides permanently in Japan and while my mum began her adventures in Africa in the late 70’s, I think both my parents secretly still dream of returning to France, where they have lived on and off over the years.

I knew that eventually; I too would have to face my old nemesis and begin the journey again to get my own license. The anxiety that had built in the years since my failed attempt sat heavy on my shoulders and I did what I could to manage without, in vain hope of remaining a ‘passenger princess’ a little while longer.

As a Leo sun, with a Taurus moon and Aquarius rising (for those in the know), my stubborn pride, determination and sometimes deemed ‘eccentric’ aspirations, are second to none.

While my desire to travel to the likes of Canada, Alaska, Scandinavia and New Zealand remained unchanged since a teen, I spent much of my twenties dreaming of buying land and living off grid in some form or another. Be it tiny home, a wooden cabin or even crumbling ruin that I would convert into the perfect rural cottage. I longed to return to the time I felt most authentically free and myself, as a slightly feral child living in the woods.

When I was 10, my parents made the first of several moves to live in France and brought a secluded cabin on a lake, surrounded by forest and only accessible down a lengthy dirt track. Unbeknownst to me at the time, they were living on a shoestring and did the entirety of the renovations themselves, yet my life never felt lacking. I hated school with a passion (I always have), but alongside our pack of four dogs and two horses, I could lose hours down on the shore playing ‘Swallows and Amazons’. I packed lunches, went swimming in ‘snake lake’ and got lost on horseback, galloping home along the track.

The transition back to the UK three years later when I was 13 and with only the dogs, was a shock to my system and on reflection, took until adulthood to begin to recover from. I struggled for years with a feeling of being out of place, different and unable to connect to my peers who had never known anything but the town and home in which they had been born.

Out of the ‘black period’ (as my mum likes to refer to my troubled teens), remained my love of dogs and my desire to give my own the best life I could.

I started with an imaginary collie pup, who would run alongside the car on long journeys, jumping over barricades like an agility super star. I named him Merlin and after years of scrawling doodles that would spend their alloted time on the fridge, he became my first real collie at age 10. He was followed by Magik at age 18, who saw me through those early years of ‘adulting’ and life challenges. It was with the feeling of unfulfilled promises to these two companions, that when Mystik and Luca came into my life I dreamed of pursuing a different path.

A life that would make 10-year-old me smile.

The anxiety I felt about driving certainly didn’t wane, but in its place that ancestral calling to travel, to adventure, to get out of my flat and connect with the world grew louder in the back of my mind. As I turned 30, I began to feel embarrassed when I needed to hand over ID and convinced myself I saw a flicker of amusement, or an eyebrow raise as the teenager behind the counter clocked my date of birth, the bright red ‘L’ stamp on my provisional license and sent me on my way.

I began to resent my dependency on other people and that desire for movement, for freedom began to morph into one of frustration. When the dogs were suddenly ill or injured, and I had to rely on parents to drive 45mins to pick us up and drive another 45mins to the vets, that feeling grew. When one of our friends would have to be designated driver, to pick up and drop us off for board game nights and gatherings, that feeling grew. When I saw the money clocking up with extra charges for every grocery shop delivery and working at home meant I rarely left the immediate vicinity of the house, that feeling grew even more.

As with most great motivators in my life, it was the realisation that my dogs deserved more, than that immediate vicinity, which ultimately pushed me back behind the wheel.

Driving however, didn’t come naturally to me and my instructors found much amusement when I would turn up to lessons with large black ‘L’ and ‘R’ written in the space between thumb and wrist!

After laboriously studying and passing my written exam first time, I had saved enough money to begin my lessons a month before my 33rd Birthday. Three months later, by the end of October not only did I have my license, passing my practical exam on my first attempt, but I also had the car that would become my future home.

The number ‘33’ has significance across many cultures and is often the herald of great change in one’s life. I have memories of sitting on a bench, with a magically inclined friend, shortly after turning 30 and reflecting on the milestone. I remember them shaking their head, although turning 30 was a milestone, it was at 33 I would experience the biggest upheaval and change in my life.

I had no idea how true their words would be.

Just before my 33rd birthday, my eight-year relationship came to an end.

The next months seemed to pass in a blur, with one focus being replaced by another as I tried to navigate these changes, keep moving forward and divide, pack and separate our lives.

When a relationship ends without great drama or fanfare, but in quite resignation and a knowledge that however you feel about one another, your desires in life and plans for the future simply don’t align – it’s almost harder.

A friend noted how brave it was, to come to terms with this reality. To see your lives diverging and letting go in the ‘healthiest’ way. The loss and pain felt from even an amicable split, however, isn’t dampened by the knowledge that you’ve ‘done the right thing’.

In my case, I had simply reached the place where no other option lay before me, if I didn't want to loose myself or let go of my dreams entirely.

At 33 and newly single, with a job I could take anywhere and with two Border Collies I longed to offer a better, freer and perhaps even wilder, outdoor life. Converting my newly acquired Citroen Berlingo into a home on wheels, seemed like the obvious choice.

I can’t say where we will end up or who I will be by the time our adventure ends (and my twenty boxes of books come out of storage, to nestle into an eventual forever home). For now, the three of us will go where the road takes us. I hope to explore the UK and perhaps beyond in Towanda, our tiny home on wheels and invite you reader, along for the ride.