Driven Round The Bend

BK Hopman (any pronouns) is a musician, writer, and perpetual student from Tamaki Makaurau, Aotearoa (Auckland, New Zealand). They are currently completing a Postgraduate Diploma in Ethnomusicology at the University of Auckland, with research interests in queer music genres, disability in music and pop culture, and the Eurovision Song Contest. With their music project luggage, BK recently had their song featured on the podcast Welcome to Night Vale. BK was born disabled, neurodivergent, and queer and will not shut up about it.

@bkh.nz (Instagram)

Driven Round The Bend

“Crazy tra!c this morning.”“I wouldn’t know, I don’t drive.”

“Oh? How do you get around?”

“Public transport. I know it like the back of my hand at this point.”

“Ah… but you could drive, right?”

Thanks to the cyclical nature of work small talk and the amount of co-workers I have, versions of this conversation happen constantly. My answers depend on how confident I’m feeling in my disabled body, how much education I feel like providing, and how open I feel like being with acquaintances on any given day. The way this conversation goes with family is much di!erent (“So have you got your licence yet?”) but no less grating.

As an amputee, I have constantly built up my ability to adjust. As an amputee from birth, there are a lot of things I have been able to learn rather than adapt to. The problem with that is all of the people around me who have assumptions of how I can complete tasks. And I often have a short fuse when it comes to nondisabled people giving me advice on what to do or how to achieve it.

The emphasis on could is never lost on me. Because yes, I could. There is n

reason why, with the correct modifications and adjustments, I could learn to

drive a car. But sometimes I want things to be simple, to not have to adapt in

every step of a process to achieve something. And it is so much harder to

explain to a non-disabled person about the mental blocks I must overcome than

simply hoping to appeal to the universal experience, that driving is scary for

everyone. The unspoken end to that sentence being when they first start, and

then it’s fine.

How do I explain to my coworker succinctly that the image of myself behind the

steering wheel racing down the motorway is as foreign as trying to picture

myself with two arms? How do I communicate that there is an invisible cage

around me without evoking pity or doubt? How do I mention that I leave my

body every time I am forced to imagine this scenario without others having

concerns about my work ethic?

I’ve made peace with many things I have determined I can’t do. My definitions of

can’t usually mix capability with want in a way that doesn’t make sense to

people without disability. This mindset doesn’t meld well with the framework of

productivity we are provided, so I expect pushback from others who don’t get it.

And what they don’t get is how freeing it is to say I can’t.

How I relieve myself of so much baggage when I stop trying to keep up the

perception of a “capable” person.

How I can just be.

And how much space that gives me for the things I can do.

So, no. I can’t drive. And yet, here I am.