I want to drive. I think about it whenever I have a spare moment. The odd thing is, before I got my license I never once wanted to drive. I had even resolved to put it off as long as I could. When friends signed up at driving schools right after the CSAT in senior year, I was busy with part-time work and thought, “They don’t even have cars. Why rush the license?” On trips, when a friend wore themselves out on a long haul at the wheel, I was sorry for them, or so I said. It was lip service, really. I wasn’t genuinely sorry. I enjoyed sitting in the back seat and resting. The license I have now I only hurried to get because my wife and I had a Jeju trip coming up. If she hadn’t insisted that Jeju without a car is a pain, I’d probably still be unlicensed.
And yet I want to drive. It really is a strange turn. In the front seat of a taxi I find myself staring at the traffic and lanes ahead as if I were the one driving. When I go home and get behind my mother’s wheel for a few hours, I don’t get tired of darting around here and there. I never knew before. I had no idea how thrilling it is that, if you set your mind to it, you can go whenever and wherever you want. It isn’t just exciting. It scratches some itch deep inside me.
Two weeks from now we have another trip to Jeju planned, and the scenic spots, famous restaurants, or even a great hotel barely register with me. I’m simply looking forward to driving. I picture cruising the coastal roads, and when I get hungry, punching some place into the navigation and heading straight there. Strange, isn’t it.