#Maybe we do need an electronic blight so that people can start being people and talking to each other face to face again.

[takeiteasyonmeimstilllearning]

so help me God, if I see another blog about tiktok being banned I'm gonna (remembering manslaughter is a not polite thing to do) probably go on ao3 and read my blorbos fics then go finish my own fiction until I've finished every last mother fuckin word.

[havetoddlerwilltravel]

Multiple Choice

When I was blogging about Australia, my sister texted to tell me that I made traveling with a toddler seem easy and delightful. I followed up with a post clarifying that, while I love my child and for the most part we were having a great trip, traveling with a toddler is not, in fact, all sunshine and rainbows. The same goes for moving to a remote island with mountain views and the most perfect public library on the continent (more on that later), so at the risk of losing you all with a post about the DMV: herewith, a post about the DMV.

It was another gorgeous day -- sunshine and float planes and bald eagles all competing for attention in the afternoon sky -- and Flo and I set off to handle our business. (We’re lucky that Flo’s family came in strong, with three of them coming up to Alaska to help us get moved in, so on this fine day our four-year-old stayed with them.)

We should have realized things were off to a rocky start when we accidentally parked at the bottom of a very steep hill and walked several blocks up to the state building on arguably the hottest day of the summer. Once inside, we were directed through a metal detector. Except Flo never made it through because, in an attempt to go native, he had clipped a pocket knife to his belt. Now in his defense, we have seen cool young women in the grocery store with knives strapped to their cargo pants. But a government building is still a government building, and the friendly guard told him he’d have to leave the knife in his car, which, if we remember, was currently several blocks away at the bottom of a very steep hill. No matter. I told him I’d go inside and get the ball rolling. 

I walked into the smallest DMV in the history of ever, with two clerks and zero line. I waltzed up and told one of them that I needed to get an Alaska driver’s license and wanted to make sure I had everything I needed.

“You’ll need your passport and proof of residence,” she said. “And you’ll need to take a written test. Are you prepared to do that now?”

“Oh sure,” I said, and I walked over to a computerized testing station like an unsuspecting preschooler about to pet a rapid dog.

It wasn’t until I sat down that I realized I’d made a big mistake. I can’t remember the last time I took a written driving test. Not only that, I do not function well on a multiple choice test. The first question came up, something about liability insurance in the state of Alaska, and the entire contents of my brain fluttered up toward the ceiling like a flock of doves. All I could see was white. My ears pounded. I felt nauseous. I peeked around the side of my little carrel, expecting to see people tearing their hair out and gnashing their teeth. But it was just a tiny government office in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, and everyone else was going about their business LIKE IT WAS A REGULAR DAY. This day, for me, had become decidedly not-regular. It was rapidly becoming the worst day of my life, at least according to my now-empty brain.

The questions looked like literal nonsense. They may as well have asked me what color water was for how confusing I found it all. “Well when children draw water it’s blue, but water from the tap is clear, and in some oceans it looks green...” There was even a question that was entirely double negatives, something like “which statement is false: A) you should never pass a school bus when the amber lights are illuminated, etc.” which I answered INCORRECTLY because by the time I got to the end of the options I’d forgotten that it was supposed to be false. Here’s my double negative to add to the mix: if I can’t pass this test, how do I prove that I am not not a good driver?

I don’t even know how many questions I got wrong but I do know that I failed. The computer told me to “return to the examiner,” a title that sounded much more sober than “DMV clerk.”

“You can try again tomorrow,” she said. She had no idea the depths of shame I felt.

I walked out of the building and into the sunshine, where I ran into Flo, all optimism and sweaty brow from his hot walk.

“We’re coming back tomorrow,” I said. (There was no point in him taking the test too, even though he would have passed because he’s not a stressed-out loon; we only had an electronic copy of our lease and needed a hard copy so we had to come back anyway. I wasn’t being a total jerk.)

We didn’t go back the next day. It took me three days to muster up the courage to try again. In the meantime I took two sample tests, BOTH OF WHICH WERE LAUGHABLY EASY. By the time we arrived at the metal detector again, this time knifeless and with a small child in tow, I had decided that I would not let the Ketchikan DMV defeat me.

I didn’t waltz this time; I marched.

“I’m ready to take the test,” I said, probably too loudly.

There were questions about moose crossings and DUIs, righthand turns and pedestrians. I did my best to stay calm and remember that I have been driving for two decades and actually know all these answers. 

I passed the test, and Flo and I got Alaska licenses that end in 699 and 700, which felt poetic. But in retrospect, none of this was about a dumb multiple choice test; it was about admitting that change is good, but it is also hard. In order to walk out of that concrete building with holes punched in our California licenses and an Alaska title for our car, we had to give up a piece of our old selves. Then again, maybe we didn’t. As much as I wanted to leave Los Angeles, the years I spent there are woven deeply into the fabric of me, like an old quilt that has been reinforced with a different color thread. I took my road test as a kid in Brooklyn, in a blighted stretch of Starrett City I’d never been to before or since, but it’s the traffic jams and road trips since then that have actually taught me to drive. And I will continue to learn, wherever I am, wherever I go, because it’s the best way forward. And because I never know when life will throw a test my way. (Though preferably not multiple choice. An essay question would be nice.)