I Still Don’t Drive and I’m Waiting for My Future Husband to Teach Me.

Driving was always meant to be mine. A given. Everyone else was doing it.

But my father, he always found a way to delay.

Not yet, he’d say. There’s time for that.

I used to think he was just being careful. Then, I thought it was just practical. Now, with him gone, and after years of almost learning, then backing away, I see a deeper truth.

I am my own. Always have been. I move with quiet force. I’ve built my life, made the tough calls, carried burdens others would drop. Fear doesn’t touch me. I solve my own problems.

Yet, driving remains my one unconquered peak. I’ve failed the written test. Booked lessons, then canceled. Something always holds me back.It feels like a calling. A pause.

I’m waiting for my future husband to teach me.Not because I need him. Not because I can’t. But because I want this for him. I want to sit in that car, next to him, and say, show me. Not because I’m small, but because I trust you completely. There’s a deep connection in that. A profound bond. A choice to be led, not from weakness, but from pure affection.

My strength is clear. But I choose gentleness. I choose us.

My father, I believe, saw this in me. He knew I’d tackle everything on my own. And maybe he knew I’d need just one thing I couldn’t just take. One thing I could offer freely. One thing we could share.

This isn’t about driving. It’s about letting go. It’s about making room for another in a life I fiercely control. It’s about saving something special for the man I love, the one I trust enough to teach me what I could learn alone.

So I wait. I wait with bright hope. I wait with quiet peace.And when that day comes, I’ll slide into the passenger seat, look at the man beside me, and say, this is for you. I kept this for you