If you asked most people to name one of their top fears, they’d probably say public speaking.
Not me.
I’ll take a microphone and a spotlight over what I consider the true Olympic sport of adulthood: parallel parking.
Some people fear heights. Some fear snakes. Some fear failure or what other people will say if they try something new and fall flat on their face.
I fear holding up traffic while attempting to wedge my vehicle into a space clearly designed for a bicycle.
Other than going to the dentist, parallel parking has been my long-standing nemesis. And I’ve carried this fear with me since roughly…oh…five minutes after I got my driver’s license. Which, for those keeping track, was 50-something (emphasis on the something) years ago.
I don’t remember exactly what happened. I assume it involved teenage me, a space that shrank by the second, and a growing line of honking cars behind me like I’d single-handedly shut down traffic. I probably hit the curb. My instructor was likely reconsidering his career. In my mind, it plays in slow motion — tire meets concrete, pedestrians pause, dramatic music swells.
Apparently, it was traumatic enough that my brain stamped it Do Not Reopen and called it a day.
You’d think I’d be over it by now.
Nope.
The Setup
This Friday, I’m meeting with a fellow Toastmaster. She’s my mentor, and I genuinely enjoy our conversations. I’m looking forward to lunch, laughter, and growth.
Then I saw her suggested location.
“In the city.”
You know what that means.
Street parking.
Which means…parallel parking.
I briefly considered:
· Suggesting a charming café in a suburban strip mall.
· Arriving three hours early to scout for a pull-through space.
· Taking an Uber and pretending it was for environmental reasons.
Instead, I said nothing and hoped for divine intervention.
A couple of emails later, she kindly offered to validate my parking in her company’s parking garage.
I have never responded to an email so quickly in my life.
“I’d LOVE that! Thank you!”
You would have thought she’d just offered me front-row seats to a Josh Groban concert. (Seeing him in concert is on my bucket list!)
The Comedy (and Truth) of Silly Fears
Here’s what fascinates me.
I can:
· Stand in front of a room of strangers and talk about purpose and reinvention.
· Encourage people to take bold steps in their third act.
· Coach others through fear of judgment and failure.
But ask me to back into a narrow space with cars behind me?
Sudden identity crisis.
And that’s the point.
Most fears aren’t about the thing itself.
They’re about the audience we imagine watching.
Parallel parking isn’t scary.
Failure isn’t fatal.
Trying something new isn’t life-threatening.
What is scary?
Looking foolish.
Holding up traffic — literal or metaphorical.
Hearing the imaginary commentary:
“Wow. She still can’t do this?”
Fear of public speaking ranks high for the same reason: judgment.
Parallel parking is just public speaking…with brake lights.
Same fear. Different stage.
The Stories We Keep
What’s interesting is how long we hold onto certain narratives.
I told myself decades ago, “I’m not good at parallel parking.”
And I’ve protected that identity ever since.
I avoid it.
I dodge it.
I reroute around it.
And every time I do, I reinforce the story.
Instead of building skill, I built avoidance.
Isn’t that what we do with bigger things?
“I’m not good with money.”
“I’m not creative.”
“I’m too old to start over.”
“I’m not leadership material.”
“I could never write a book.”
At some point, those statements were probably born from one awkward moment. One misstep. One uncomfortable experience.
And instead of practicing, we protected ourselves.
We avoided the street.
We validated our own garage.
The Garage Isn’t the Goal
Now don’t get me wrong. I happily accepted that garage validation. Growth doesn’t require unnecessary suffering.
But here’s what I’m also realizing:
Avoidance keeps the story intact.
Exposure edits it.
The only way to become someone who can parallel park with ease…is to parallel park.
The only way to become someone who can speak confidently…is to speak.
The only way to become someone who starts something new at 50, 60, or 70…is to start.
We think fear means “Don’t.”
Often, it simply means “Practice.”
The Real Lesson
My fear of parallel parking is, admittedly, a little ridiculous.
But so are many of the fears keeping us from:
Launching that idea.
Making that phone call.
Raising our hand.
Changing careers.
Saying yes to the next chapter.
We let small fears grow old with us.
Some of mine are over 50 years old.
That’s a long time to let an old story stay behind the wheel.
So maybe one of these days soon, I’ll intentionally choose street parking.
I’ll turn on my blinker.
I’ll take a deep breath.
And I’ll try.
Not because it’s about the car.
But because it’s about rewriting a story that’s been quietly driving me for decades.
If I can rewrite a 50-year-old parking story…
What else have I been underestimating?
What’s your “parallel parking”?
