We spend our working lives thinking about the person sitting beside us. Perhaps occasionally we need to think about the person sitting in our own seat too.

When you’re a driving instructor, most of your working day is naturally focused on somebody else.

Are they safe?

Are they learning?

Are they anxious?

Did they understand what just happened?

Should I intervene?

Should I stay quiet?

Are they ready to do more for themselves?

That’s the job.

But there is another person sitting in that car.

The driving instructor.

And I’ve started thinking much more about that person too.

When busy meant successful

When I first became a driving instructor, I probably had quite a conventional idea of what success looked like.

A full diary was good.

A waiting list was even better.

Lots of test passes certainly felt good.

And if I was busy, surely the business must be doing well?

I’m not so sure anymore.

In the early days, one of the things that tired me most was travelling too far between pupils.

When you’re building a business, it’s difficult to turn work away. Someone wants lessons, so you find a way of fitting them in.

But the lesson isn’t the only time you’re giving away.

Twenty minutes travelling there and another twenty minutes getting somewhere afterwards might not appear anywhere in the diary as paid work.

Do that several times a day and you’ve created a very long working day without necessarily creating a particularly good business.

These days I travel much less.

That sounds like a small operational decision.

It isn’t.

It’s improved my working life.

The test result trap

There was another thing I struggled with, particularly earlier in my career.

Driving tests.

More specifically, failed driving tests.

I could allow myself to feel as though the last test result was somehow a judgement on how good I was at my job.

Pupil passes:

I’m doing a good job.

Pupil fails:

What did I do wrong?

That’s quite a burden to carry around.

Of course I still want my pupils to pass. A test pass is a brilliant moment and something worth celebrating.

But I’ve come to understand the bigger picture.

A driving test is one drive, on one day, in one set of circumstances.

My responsibility as an instructor is much bigger than preparing someone to negotiate a collection of familiar test routes for 40 minutes.

I’m helping somebody learn how to drive independently.

Hopefully they’ll be doing that for decades after they’ve forgotten my name.

That’s a much better measure of the job.

And when the negative self-talk does occasionally creep in, I’ve found something remarkably simple helps.

I read my reviews.

Not because I need somebody to tell me how wonderful I am.

Because they give me perspective.

One disappointing result can feel enormous when it happened an hour ago. Reading the experiences of people I’ve helped over several years reminds me that one result isn’t the whole story.

Sometimes we need evidence to challenge the story we’re telling ourselves.

A full diary isn’t necessarily a good business

I’ve changed my mind about some other measures of success too.

A full diary sounds impressive.

But what if it’s full because you’re considerably cheaper than everybody else?

A long waiting list sounds successful.

But is it?

Turnover can look wonderful.

But as somebody once taught me:

Sales are vanity. Profit is sanity.

And even profit isn’t the whole story if earning it leaves you exhausted.

Perhaps the better question is:

What is the business actually giving you in return for the life you’re giving it?

That’s a question I probably didn’t ask enough in the beginning.

I do now.

What does a good day actually feel like?

Interestingly, when I think about my best days as a driving instructor, money isn’t usually the first thing that comes to mind.

It’s seeing somebody make progress.

It’s receiving a recommendation from somebody who trusts me enough to send someone they care about my way.

It’s reading a lovely review.

Yes, it’s seeing somebody pass their test.

And sometimes it’s simply having a lesson where the pupil and I can relax a little, share a laugh and enjoy spending a couple of hours together.

Driving instruction is a people business.

That human connection matters.

Of course there are also pupils who can make the job more difficult.

Most instructors will probably recognise the learner who seems slightly too cool to learn.

Teaching works best when two people are engaged in the process. Trying to create that engagement can sometimes take more energy than the driving itself.

Not every lesson will be brilliant.

Not every pupil will become somebody you look forward to seeing.

That’s real life too.

The hour that earns me nothing

These days, where possible, I like an hour between lessons.

Look at that purely as a business calculation and it might appear inefficient.

Why have an empty hour when another pupil could be paying for it?

Because I’ve learned that the hour isn’t really empty.

It gives me a chance to get out of the car.

Walk around.

Eat.

Have a drink.

Deal with something that needs dealing with.

Think about the lesson that’s just finished.

Or sometimes deliberately not think about it at all.

Then I can reset before another person gets into the car and deserves my attention.

On paper that hour earns me nothing.

But if it means I arrive at the next lesson calmer, refreshed and fully present, perhaps it isn’t unproductive at all.

Not every unbillable hour is wasted time.

That’s taken me a while to understand.

Our workplace is a car

There’s also the physical reality of this profession.

We sit down.

A lot.

And while we’re sitting there, we’re concentrating.

We’re watching the road, the pupil, the mirrors, other road users and everything developing around us.

We’re listening.

We’re teaching.

We’re anticipating.

And we’re ready to intervene if necessary.

That’s quite a lot happening while apparently just sitting in the passenger seat.

Then there are the practical realities.

Finding somewhere to use the toilet.

Eating between lessons.

Getting enough movement.

Dark winter evenings.

And heat.

This summer in particular has reminded me just how tiring spending hours in a car during hot weather can be.

The body keeping the business running deserves some attention too.

Coffee isn’t a food group

Anyone who knows me will know that I’m not about to start campaigning against coffee.

I like good coffee far too much for that.

But coffee isn’t water.

And it isn’t lunch either.

When you’re moving from pupil to pupil, it’s very easy to grab whatever food happens to be convenient, forget to drink enough water and tell yourself you’ll eat properly later.

I’m trying to become more conscious of that.

Nothing revolutionary.

Eat reasonably well.

Avoid too much rubbish.

Keep hydrated.

Have water available in the car and actually drink it.

Don’t try to manufacture energy that isn’t there.

I’ve never been one for energy drinks, and I’m quite happy to keep it that way.

This isn’t nutritional advice.

It’s simply recognising something fairly obvious that can become surprisingly easy to ignore:

How we look after ourselves affects what we’re able to give to the person sitting beside us.

Looking after the mind as well

The same applies mentally.

I’ve become increasingly interested in meditation and mindfulness.

Those words can sometimes make things sound more complicated than they need to be.

For me, mindfulness doesn’t have to mean disappearing to a retreat or sitting cross-legged trying desperately not to think.

It can be much simpler.

A few quiet minutes.

Walking without looking at my phone.

Being outside.

Noticing what’s around me.

Spending time with Crumble.

Listening to music.

Being with my daughters.

Watching football or rugby.

Travelling.

Sometimes doing very little at all.

Different things work at different times for different reasons.

And sometimes mindfulness between lessons can simply mean recognising:

That last lesson was difficult.

I’m still thinking about it.

I need to leave it there before the next person gets into the car.

The next pupil shouldn’t inherit the emotional leftovers from the previous lesson.

That’s easier said than done.

I’m still learning.

Life outside the driving-school car

Perhaps this is where my definition of success has changed most.

There was a time when becoming busier felt like progress.

Now I’m much more interested in balance.

I want a successful driving school.

I want pupils to progress.

I want them to pass their tests.

I want to earn a reasonable living.

But I also want time away from the car.

Time with family.

Time with Crumble.

Time outdoors.

Time to travel.

Time to learn.

Time to develop other ideas.

And occasionally time where absolutely nothing productive needs to happen.

The business is part of my life.

It isn’t supposed to become my life.

Playing the long game

That’s really why we’ve called this part of the WS Driving Collective The Long Game.

It isn’t simply about wellbeing.

And it certainly isn’t about telling instructors they should take a bubble bath and think positively after a difficult day.

It’s about sustainability.

Physical sustainability.

Mental sustainability.

Financial sustainability.

And perhaps professional sustainability too.

How do we create a working life that we can continue to enjoy?

That might mean charging properly rather than filling the diary because we’re cheap.

It might mean travelling less.

It might mean leaving gaps between lessons.

It might mean saying no occasionally.

It might mean questioning whether turnover is actually becoming profit.

It might mean accepting that a failed test doesn’t define us.

It might mean eating lunch.

It might even mean drinking some water between the coffees.

None of those things alone will transform a career.

Together, they might help make one sustainable.

Who looks after the person in the passenger seat?

Most of us came into this profession because, in one way or another, we enjoy helping people.

That’s worth protecting.

Because if we’re permanently exhausted, stressed, rushing between lessons and measuring our professional worth by the last test result, eventually something gets lost.

Perhaps sometimes we need to give ourselves the same patience we try to give our learners.

Reflect.

Notice what’s working.

Recognise what isn’t.

Make an adjustment.

Try again.

Learning never stops for us either.

I’m approaching a stage in my own life where I’m thinking increasingly about what I want the next few years to look like.

I don’t know exactly what my working week will look like in 2030.

I hope I’m still teaching some people to drive.

I hope I’m still getting that little buzz when somebody suddenly understands something they’ve been struggling with.

I hope there are still laughs in the car.

And yes, I’m pretty certain I’ll still enjoy seeing somebody come back from a driving test with a pass certificate.

But there’s one thing above all that I would like to be able to say:

I’m still doing this job because I want to, not because I have to.

For me, perhaps that’s what playing The Long Game really means.

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Wayne Smith
Founder, WS Driving Collective