Verity Johnson: Don't be fearful of taking taxis

Photo / Brett Phibbs

Every time a girlfriend says, "Oh, I won't take taxis, they're so creepy," my heart sinks a little.

Firstly, I've had some great times in taxis. There was the time when a gummy old Aussie man and I swapped notes on the biography of Winston Churchill we'd both just read. Then there was the driver, an enthusiastic amateur astronomer, who explained to me exactly what the Big Dipper was. One time in a taxi I pretended to be Turkish, and rapidly invented a family who were all called Kamal, because I accidentally grunted when the driver asked me if I was Turkish.

Sure, I've had some skin-crawlingly uncomfortable conversations. For instance, a driver once demanded I tell him the nationalities of all the men I'd ever slept with, before telling me never to breed with any "coloureds".

But my average taxi experience - and because I'm habitually late there have been a lot of them - has been normal. Some have been brilliant, most have been fine, and just a few have been a bit weird.

So when someone says "all drivers are creepy", I can't help but find it a little irrational and sad.

I hear this every time I have the do-you-taxi-on-your-own debate with my girlfriends. Which, with the debate over when you can wear flannel pyjamas during sex, is up there among the most recurring debates among my friends.

The comment never fails to remind me of the low level of paranoia that all women grow up with.

I've written before about how easy it is for young women to slip into an underlying fear of men. That is one part of a larger level of what I call The Fear: the highly prevalent feeling among young women that the world is not a safe place for them. It's the reason that we text our friends to let them know we got home safe after a night out. It's the reason that when we look at a house to rent, we look at how well lit the surrounding streets are. It's the reason we carry pepper spray, take self-defence classes or berate ourselves for having "earned it" when someone sexually harasses us.

We've been conditioned as young women to feel that the world is a dangerous place. And, more importantly, that it is our responsibility to keep ourselves out of the way of being mugged, stabbed or raped.

As such, we go through life being constantly aware, on a low level, of the potential danger of the situation.

Now this awareness can be good. It teaches us, above all, to be alert. And realising that we should take our headphones off on the walk home at night is a good way to stay aware of the situation. That way we don't put yourself in a situation where we are especially vulnerable to danger.

But at the same time, The Fear is dangerous - like wearing gym gear when not gym-ing. The more you do it, the more it takes over. It can spiral very quickly into an irrational, consuming paranoia. This is the feeling that lets women say - and it's astoundingly acceptable to do so - that all men are bastards and you can't trust any of them. We end up with a distorted view of humanity.

And if that isn't enough, it can lead us into condoning all sorts of flawed ideas like victim-blaming. It's not just men who say, "Well, of course that would happen if you dress like that."

But most worryingly it stops us from living our lives. If we're living with this feeling, then we are always moderating our own behaviour. It doesn't encourage the freedom of thought and action that we deserve.

We can stop this spiral by doing things like taking taxis. If we do the small things that people talk up as Really, Really Scary, then we realise that's not actually a horrific experience. I'm not saying run into a crack den and say "Hey Junkies! Come and take a bite out of this middle-class butt!" I'm talking about taking a taxi or hanging out on K Rd. (Both of which I've been told repeatedly not to do.) Doing things with a potential for risk, but that on average are fine.

That way whenever we hear the voice of The Fear, we have a series of experiences to draw on to tell us whether the voice is being rational.

And we need to learn to manage this voice. We can't ignore it or exacerbate it; we just have to accept it's there and control it.

If it's left to itself, then it's going to eat us from the inside out.