Everyday Ignatian is a series written by guest contributors, chronicling their daily lives and experiences through the lens of Ignatian spirituality.
When my husband and I moved out of New York City to suburban New Jersey a few years ago, there were many practical things to look forward to: more space to grow our family, a backyard with trees and a somewhat lower cost of living. But there was also one practical thing I was very much not looking forward to: driving.
I hadn’t owned a car since I was 18. Considering that I moved to NYC for college, and stayed there for most of my career, I got around just fine via subways, trains, buses and the occasional cab. Relying entirely on public transportation wasn’t possible in my new neighborhood, so with a considerable amount of anxiety, I set out on a journey to grow more confident behind the wheel.
I felt woefully out of practice, but I knew that the best way to feel more comfortable with something is to do it often, so shortly after our move I began driving somewhere every day. First, the local spots: the library, a coffee shop, the doctor’s office, often with my patient husband or kind friends in tow. Then, longer trips like visiting family out of state or heading to a conference a couple hours away. There were some missteps along the way … more than a few curb bumps, laughable attempts at parallel parking that left me fleeing in embarrassment to more distant blocks, or the time I came to a complete stop while trying to merge onto a major highway, infuriating the drivers behind me.
From navigating horn-honks to running out of wiper fluid during what I can only describe as a “pollen tornado,” my quest to become more comfortable behind the wheel was abundant with lessons in humility.
One part of St. Ignatius’ biography that I’ve overlooked in the past is his return to school after his conversion. Kicked out of the Holy Land, where he had hoped to remain for the rest of his life, he returned to Spain, where he enrolled in a public grammar school to learn Latin and other basics in preparation for university.
His classmates were as young as 8 years old! Meanwhile, Ignatius was 33 — the same age I was at the time of my relocation to the ‘burbs. I thought of this story as a car full of teens speedily passed me on the left, the car’s driver laughing, confident. I imagined Ignatius, a fully grown man in a classroom of children, and how uncomfortable that must have felt. Did his knees press up against the bottom of a too-small desk? Did his classmates think he was odd or ignorant? Did he ever feel like a failure?
I’m not sure if Ignatius was bothered by thoughts like this, but even if he was, he embraced the discomfort enough to dedicate two entire years of his life to that classroom. He knew that he had more to learn before he could start saving souls, and to get closer to his life’s true purpose, he had to put his ego aside and stay committed to a path of growth, even if it looked a little different than what he originally envisioned.
It was challenging to lean into my discomfort — and potential for embarrassment — behind the wheel, but I knew driving was a skill necessary to allow me to live fully and serve my family’s future. So, I read through our car’s lengthy owner’s manual, asked seasoned drivers (and our very kind mechanic) a lot of questions, and spent countless hours on the road until driving felt less like something to fear and more like a standard part of my daily routine.
Now, four and a half years later, I confidently drive my two kids around town, I know what (almost) all of the dashboard warning lights mean, and I’m especially happy to report that I no longer come to a complete stop while trying to merge.
St. Ignatius’ story reminded me that the humility of realizing you have a lot to learn (or in my case, relearn) is a lesson that will continue to come around in life. We can puff up our chests in arrogance and deem ourselves “above” the work, or we can take a note from Ignatius’ playbook, stay humble and pull up a seat in the classroom.
