I’ve been learning how to drive a manual car the last few weeks, which has been a disgustingly overwhelming experience. I keep counting down the weeks I have left of driving this stupid car with its clunky gearstick and the way it shudders when I take the clutch out. I don’t know how to drive like this. But I only have to wait until 17, until I reach the required 100 hours, until I sit my test, hopefully don’t stall the manual, pass, and get to drive all by myself in my safe, gorgeous, automatic car I’m buying off my grandma.
I’m excited, not just to get away from the manual driving, but to get away from needing a passenger in the car. I’m excited for the chance to blast my own music without anyone judging for once, to play my musical tunes, or cheesy Taylor Swift, or music which makes my stereotyping family ask about my sexuality (I’m straight. Sorry that Chappell Roan is a good artist.). I’m excited to drive wherever I want, whenever I want. I’m excited for the chance to go see my friends who live three hours away. I’m excited to pick people up and go on useless road trips. I’m excited to get away.
It’s easy to feel trapped at home, stuck in the bedroom of a person who once was a child and an angsty teenager, and imagine that I’ll never mature to be an adult in my own right when I haven’t left my nest, haven’t learnt to fly.
Some days, I can’t wait to move out. I can’t wait for a taste of freedom, for being alone, but not lonely. Not for anything dangerous or reckless or stupid, but just to walk around, cup of coffee in hand, and not have anyone even know it.
On New Year’s Eve, I wandered around the city by myself, sitting on park benches and walls, hunched over my laptop, trying to hit the 10 000 word count I’d set for myself (I did it btw!!) before meeting up with a friend. My parents don’t know there was ever a second when I was alone. But when I think back to that evening, I think of, true, the fireworks show and the drunk girls on the bus, and bad music, but I also think back to walking around by myself, and it’s that time of solitude that I favour the most.
I leave my grandparent’s house to go home and instead catch the train into the city and walk through the gardens, or through the shops, or embarrassingly, to the cathedral which always makes me cry. I like to wander, but specifically, I like no one knowing that I’m wandering. I like to think of my family, idly assuming I’m still at my grandparent’s, unaware of the mundane activities I get up to.
I got on a plane and flew two hours to see a show and spent the day wandering, blissfully unaware of where I was going or what I was doing, grateful to not be touristing with my gran or my dad, always too focused on an end goal.
I just like the bliss of my own thoughts, of knowing that no one is waiting for me or wanting something. I’m in love with days that are truly, 100%, my own. When I wake up and the family is all out, gone until the sun has set, and I have these empty hours, stretching in seeming infinity, all to myself.
It’s the nights home alone, when the rain patters comfortably outside, and I get to brew a hot chocolate, standing over the milk at the stovetop, singing to Phoebe Bridgers or dancing to Chappell Roan, when I really feel it. When I nestle in on the couch and watch a Netflix show I’ve been waiting to watch but none of my siblings want to see. When I get to wander around the house and lose myself in my mind without any one else noticing.
It’s the one thing I’m excited to grow up for - freedom. Stepping outside the bird cage (no matter how wide the bars have been or how the door has always been unlocked) and into the big wide world (no matter how small and cosy I keep my life).
I can’t wait to move out. To decorate a university dorm room, and eventually decorate a shitty overpriced apartment. To stay up until 2am because it’s when I’m most productive. To get in my car and drive because I feel like it. To live responsibly most of the time, and recklessly some of the time, and impulsively but safely a lot of the time.
At the same time, I know I’ll miss the other nights. Making brownies at midnight with my sisters, giggling to Sabrina Carpenter and scream-singing childhood classics like You Belong With Me. Using coffee and biscuits and trinkets as barter tools and peace offerings. Noise and laughter and love. I’ll miss watching my younger siblings grow up, and I’ll miss hearing my older sister grow up.
But I know that these upcoming early years of adulthood will be my best chance to find myself, discover who I am away from the confines of my family and the messiness of my friendships. I know that when I’m alone I find myself, in the early misty mornings, or late at night when the world stops, over coffee or two minute noodles. I don’t know who I am around other people, but I have a pretty good idea of who I want to be when the weight of other people’s presence steps off my chest and lets me breathe.
I may not be trapped, but I’m not exactly free. And while my coming-of-age is something I mostly dread, unbridled, unrestrained freedom is something I only dream of.
Keep wandering and writing Lena. And try to find someone who doesn't mind wandering with you. Or at least someone who respects that you need time to wander. I still LOVE wandering, and there's 3 kids in tow. Felt this piece deeply too, the start of college and the feeling of freedom. My parents let me go away for 3 weeks alone when I was 16, before I went away for college, so didnt really crave it so much. Freedom just means you have to do your own laundry and figure out meals. Really impressed that you're learning to drive a manual car. Not sure what country you're writing from but that detail sets you apart already! So glad I found your writing.
from a girl who’s experiencing her first taste of freedom, i can promise you you will grow so so much, and you’ll love it. i felt exactly like this a year ago x