Yesterday I got an email from my employer’s health insurer. Usually I don’t pay much attention to these impersonal emails, but this one caught my eye because the text included the repeated use of an unfamiliar term known as a “QLE”. A Qualifying Life Event. A QLE is a ridiculous-sounding and overly clinical characterization for big ticket emotional moments like relocating, having a child, getting married, filing for divorce and retiring from the military. I thought about these so-called QLEs for a bit. The list was short and of course fit within the operating scheme for health insurance. But later that day, perhaps because I am prone to daydreaming during extra-long briefs, I was still thinking about this term.

In my quest to smoothly transition to life as a civilian, I’ve been using spare moments to tend to seemingly small details that will hopefully make life easier down the road. This month one such task has involved the issue of my American driver’s license. 

Most humans will be subjected to a battery of driving instruction and evaluation only once in a lifetime. The process is not enjoyable, and as such I think of it as a QLE. Further, it’s the sort of unpalatable experience that is best endured while young when our brains are still spongy and most capable of absorbing doctrine and regulations with limited questioning. And once you succeed in obtaining that coveted hologram card, it’s an unbeatable feeling because not only does it provide the foundation for an adult wallet, but you can breathe easy knowing that you will never again have to go through such scrutiny while behind the wheel.

Unless you are planning on moving to Europe. 

Even before Brexit was completing its second lap on the racetrack of ridiculousness, the ability to use an American driver’s license over here has had restrictions. As a Yank, if you’re not working in some sort of special capacity (visiting forces, diplomatic mission), then you have only one year in which to drive on an American license before it must be switched over to a European one. The best part? There’s no provision allowing for a simple trading in of an American license for a Union Jack one (or, at the moment, one that bears a circle of 12 gold stars). And limitation is not only found in the UK; the issue of non-transferability means that if you wish to move to European Country X, then you must not only adapt to their new culture, but you must also embrace their idea of motorist regulations and pass their testing standards. This effectively means that you get to experience an even deeper level of cultural head scratching.

Take the questions on France’s written driving test:

So some French test questions don’t really have much to do with actually operating a vehicle. Fine. But I have been told that it’s not so terrible. Across the border over in Italy, they administer an even harder test. Or at least more confounding:

After questions abut mythological yet very real Italian air injuries, I’m happy that I only must navigate British As A Second Language and their Brio-like symbology:

It’s stressful enough going through a driving test once in a person’s life. To do it again as an adult—to prove yourself a second time in a foreign place—well, that almost feels worse. I say this because failure not only incurs the ridicule of siblings who were wise enough to stay planted in America, but not passing can also cause you question a very basic foundation that you have spent decades building upon. Or you can just proclaim that the exam was BS. But still, you will have to go back and go through it again. How many bonus QLEs do you want?

The only solace I find in navigating these “starting from scratch” experiences is the fact that I am indeed an adult. Unless my youthful self of 25 years ago, I have spent many years building carefully-etched lines under my eyes and now possess mysteriously permanent bruises on my knees, hips and arms. It hasn’t always been pretty, but the passage of time has proved that I am generally capable at surmounting challenge. It’s a good thing too, because approaching retirement means that I’m going to be encountering tests that will go much farther than simply driving. 

A few weeks ago, I went on a short day hike with American friends living in the south of France. Like me, they were well-familiar with the battery of re-evaluation that came with procuring a European driving license (except they were doing it en français). The randonnée selected was one that was classified as “moyenne” and “sportive”. In other words, something that wasn’t a walk in lavender fields, but at the same time necessitated something that would test our concentration as well as heart rate. There was bit of scree and about 120 floors of stair-like ascent, but in the end it was a doable challenge with an excellent payoff: once we reached the top of the small mountain, we were afforded sweeping views of the Mediterranean Sea below us. At our backs were the snow-covered Alps in the distance. Magnifique. All it took to get here was a bit of sweat and confidence in our footing—and thank goodness no test asking us putting the car au point mort en arrivant au feu rouge.

I’d like to think that life is far more satisfying if it comes sprinkled with challenges both imposed and self-imposed—undertakings and notable events that result in some sort of soul-affirming payoff.  Whether it’s through being certified as bilingual in two cultures by passing more than one crazy driving test, or by simply tackling a daily challenge—all of these in some way still qualify as significant QLEs.

And I did ultimately pass the trio of theory, hazard and practical British driving exams. I was deemed safe to not only drive on the left-hand side of the road, but also competent in shifting with my left hand after doing the contrary for 25 years. Like a walk in the hills, it’s kind of a stupid achievement, but there is something validating in having made it through the wickets. In moving forward I know that the hills will get more difficult to climb, and the end result will not always be so smooth. And maybe I’ll fall and do something so disastrous as to cause a phone call to my health insurance, informing them of my latest QLE. Who knows. For now I’ll just take the view from where I’m standing.