I didn’t learn to drive until my early twenties. I took a driver’s education course filled with teeny-boppers who were excited about the start of their freedom. Until that point, I had no reason to drive, but like a lot of first-time drivers, I had one of two reactions: terrifying or exciting. I was the former.

My foray onto the driving scene was ripe with anxiety that I would do something wrong and cause the world’s worst accident. I recall a friend’s first time driving on the highway, when we were teenagers, and her screams as she made her way onto the highway ramp to join the rest of the cars. Perhaps that moment stuck with me.

I took everything I learned from Drivers Education to heart. I’m sure I was the only one who paid thorough attention. As I drove more, it got easier.

But when I moved to northern Virginia, an area with too many people and too many cars, I once again faced anxiety. Sure, where I was from you had fast cars, but northern Virginia was a whole different culture for the road.

Driving was torture.

The constant traffic jams were brutal, and sometimes it took almost 2 hours to drive 10 miles. When traffic was flowing, I would speed to go with the flow of traffic. Even if I went five miles per hour above the speed limit that wasn’t fast enough for some people. Sometimes not even 10 worked.

Slow vehicles were the white work vans driving well under the speed limit. Usually, it was the working vans — painted white with ladders on the top of them. The drivers had their windows down, and they drove 10 miles under the speed limit.

A good car ride was much like Goldilocks trying to find her sweet spot — not too fast and not too slow. It meant driving behind a car who was going just fast enough you didn't have to keep tapping your breaks but not slow enough to piss you off.

But there was another problem — rude drivers. Being a polite person, I would let vehicles into my lane when possible, make sure I used my blinker when necessary (and with adequate notification to the driver behind me), stay back far enough and not tailgate. Other drivers weren’t always as considerate, and between impolite drivers and impatient ones it made me miserable. Being self-conscious makes one hyper-aware of even the smallest things.

However, I had a moment of sanguinity when I realized something obvious. No matter how fast I moved or how much I tried to blend in — someone wasn’t satisfied. So why should I cause myself heartache just to please someone else?

No, I didn’t become a tyrant on the roads. I’m still polite (someone has to be). But I stopped caring whether I was annoying other drivers.

Once I realized I was getting caught up in the hurriedness of a major city, and I stopped caring, driving became pleasurable.

Early last week, there were a gang of cars (myself included) cruising down the street with not a care to give. Cars zipped by us in the left lane as we drove the speed limit. It was amusing, and I wondered if they were thinking what I was thinking. I wanted the drive to my next destination to be stress-free and without rush.

It took several tries to let go. Even now, sometimes I take a step back and take a deep breath. I go the speed I’m comfortable with and enjoy the scenery in silence. Perhaps those in a hurry are late to work or their next event. But leaving early gives me plenty of time to chill. It also makes me a more defensive — and safe — driver. I’m aware of the surrounding cars, alert enough to watch for terrible drivers, but otherwise, I’m at peace.

As someone with social anxiety, this realization (that may be apparent to others) trickled into other areas of my life. Life doesn’t end when you stop being concerned with what others think of your behavior. In fact, nothing changes but your outlook on life — and perhaps a little less stress.

Even though I’ve been rear-ended more times than ever (in fact, a week ago I was rear-ended by a teenager whose foot slipped off the break), and city drivers still zip by without care for safety, driving is not stressful.

When you aren’t hurried to get to your next destination, driving becomes a getaway on its own. Even if I’m in stop-and-go traffic, driving has become one of my favorite parts of the day.