Driving Has Taught Me Some Patience

I wasn’t always patient.

It took years, countless life experiences, and yes, the ownership of many cars to get here. Friends notice it now. Colleagues comment on it. Strangers sometimes remark on it in passing. I’ve never dismissed it, but I know the patience they see has been cultivated over a lifetime, and driving has been one of my quiet teachers.

I started with ordinary cars, more about getting from point A to B than the experience. An old, rusty sedan I relied on just to get to work. Then came a series of small hatches: impulsive purchases fueled by youthful enthusiasm. Each demanded attention: coaxing reluctant engines, waiting for worn clutches, protecting fragile bodywork. Any patience I had then was practical, born of necessity. Frustrating, yes, but rooted in endurance. Over time, it grew deeper. Waiting became preparation; obstacles became lessons.

As I matured, so did my taste in cars. I continued chasing a sports car dream, but life forced me to round off the edges of my impatience. Family 'haulers' had their place. Practicality had to coexist with sportiness. I learned to extract enjoyment from whatever I was driving, patiently learning the nuances of each platform. I calmed down behind the wheel, appreciating the journey more than the destination.

The S2000 cemented these lessons. Hardly practical, it was a second vehicle I had worked patiently to earn. Light, reasonably powerful, rear-wheel drive - a new driving dynamic entirely. I spent thousands of kilometres on twisty roads and lots of track days with and without instructors. And through it all, patience taught me to extract performance, from the car, and - most importantly - from myself.

Then, in 2023, I got the Boxster. Similarly low, poised, responsive, yet also more demanding. Fast even standing still, it rewards control and subtlety. Patience is required here, but it’s no longer just practical,  it's joy. Every pause, every carefully chosen stretch of road amplifies the experience. I’ve realized I need more patience with myself too. The 718 has much to teach me, and I’ve only scratched the surface. I broke it in over 6000 kms in Europe, but I needed (and still need) more time to ramp myself up. Decades of learning patience culminate here, and I finally appreciate it fully - but need more.

Even small moments require humility. The first time I pushed it hard into a tight corner - on a greasy Nordschleife track, no less - I unsettled the car, and myself. Another day, I misjudged a smooth highway merge and was reminded that timing matters; forcing the throttle doesn’t improve anything. Cold mornings demand gentle warm-ups. Every moment reminds me that learning the car is a process, and one I must respect.

Patience shows itself in ordinary ways. On paper, the 718 is capable of far more than public roads allow. It could corner harder, accelerate faster, brake later. But most days, it doesn’t, and neither do I. Slower cars ahead, construction zones, speed limits; all were once interruptions, now just reminders. Driving isn’t domination; it’s participation. Moments must be chosen. When the road opens just enough to invite a smooth roll onto the throttle, I take it cleanly and calmly. Patience isn’t passivity. It’s discernment.

Even the physics and mechanics reinforce it. Cold oil needs time. Tires need distance. The chassis rewards smooth inputs, not sudden ones. Rush the warm-up, and the engine feels tight. Jab the brakes mid-corner, and balance shifts too rapidly. Mash the throttle instead of easing in, and the drive becomes jagged. The car rewards rhythm, not force, and reminds me that patience with myself mirrors patience with the machine.

I’ve stopped chasing miles and started chasing moments. Turning off the highway for a quiet two-lane road. Parking early to watch the sun set, then driving under the stars with the top down. Driving without a destination. The quickest route rarely makes the best memory. Some of my favourite drives haven’t been dramatic: steady stretches in between curves, engine growling evenly, hands light on the wheel, no urgency to arrive. In those moments, patience feels like freedom.

The GTS has slowed me down in ways that extend beyond the driver’s seat. I react less quickly, observe more, accept that not everything needs to happen immediately. Waiting is no longer wasted time; it’s preparation, perspective, seasoning.

'Red' spends months parked (restrained, shall we say?). The road sometimes demands restraint. The perfect stretch doesn’t always appear on command. But when it does, it feels earned. Patience hasn’t made driving less exciting. It has made it deeper. And in that depth, I’ve found something more enduring than speed.

I’ve found some peace.

~ Luke

* first two photo credits to @alavigne