I am 31 years and 247 days old. And today, I passed my driving test. 

This has been 13 years in the making. THIRTEEN YEARS! I started at 18 when my parents gave me lessons for my birthday, and promptly stopped when their generosity ended. I went to uni, and it just fell off my list of priorities. I moved back home at the end of it, then to London, and who needs a car when you live in London? It's a 24-hour city, I paid more than enough for my travel card, so I was going to make the most of it!

But then someone suggests a road trip, or a driving holiday. Friends move away. Family disperses. And having to rely on Sunday service trains becomes very arduous. I started up my lessons again, but couldn't get a test date secured before both my provisional and my theory test expired. 

Then Uber came along, and it helped me to put it off for even longer.

But I've had two weeks off, I've been doing lessons every day, and even though it's taken a very long time, I can say that I passed first time.

When we got back, my instructor suggested he take a photo with my certificate (sidebar: Yes, that he knows about that social media life). So I got one and popped it up on Facebook, as you do. I didn't think much of it, but a couple hours later, my dad has sent the photo to his entire phone book, and I've had so many congratulatory comments, likes, calls and messages, all lovingly, if not unexpectedly received.

You see, in my mind it seems so undeserved, because I'm sat here thinking, "should you really be congratulating me for something I should have done ages ago? Isn't it more "finally!", than all the hand clapping emojis that are warranted here?

But actually, no.

It's times like this, when you see who your biggest cheerleaders are. When you see who is really happy for you, no matter if you've taken a giant leap or a pigeon step in a good direction. And no matter how long it takes you to get there, those people will always meet you at the finish line with the exact same energy and gusto. 

I am 31 years and 247 days old. And today, I passed my driving test. 

This has been 13 years in the making. THIRTEEN YEARS! I started at 18 when my parents gave me lessons for my birthday, and promptly stopped when their generosity ended. I went to uni, and it just fell off my list of priorities. I moved back home at the end of it, then to London, and who needs a car when you live in London? It's a 24-hour city, I paid more than enough for my travel card, so I was going to make the most of it!

But then someone suggests a road trip, or a driving holiday. Friends move away. Family disperses. And having to rely on Sunday service trains becomes very arduous. I started up my lessons again, but couldn't get a test date secured before both my provisional and my theory test expired. 

Then Uber came along, and it helped me to put it off for even longer.

But I've had two weeks off, I've been doing lessons every day, and even though it's taken a very long time, I can say that I passed first time.

When we got back, my instructor suggested he take a photo with my certificate (sidebar: Yes, that he knows about that social media life). So I got one and popped it up on Facebook, as you do. I didn't think much of it, but a couple hours later, my dad has sent the photo to his entire phone book, and I've had so many congratulatory comments, likes, calls and messages, all lovingly, if not unexpectedly received.

You see, in my mind it seems so undeserved, because I'm sat here thinking, "should you really be congratulating me for something I should have done ages ago? Isn't it more "finally!", than all the hand clapping emojis that are warranted here?

But actually, no.

It's times like this, when you see who your biggest cheerleaders are. When you see who is really happy for you, no matter if you've taken a giant leap or a pigeon step in a good direction. And no matter how long it takes you to get there, those people will always meet you at the finish line with the exact same energy and gusto. 

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