august sixth

Today, I sat behind the wheel for the first time. Afraid to even start the engine, endless questions rolled down my mouth, nervously. What does this button do? Where should I put my feet? By the time the driver's seat—which had initially felt dizzyingly unfamiliar—began to feel comfortable, I had run out of questions. The moment to shift the gear into D arrived. Do you trust me? Do you trust these hands and feet driving your car? I wanted to ask, but voicing that question would have been a confirmation that I didn't trust myself; so, I swallowed the words and lifted my right foot.

I learned how to move forward, right, left, and reverse my path. As I circled the neighborhood, I learned how to grip and turn the steering wheel and how to gauge distances through the window. I learned to press the accelerator on uphills and the brake on downhills to maintain a steady speed. I learned to wait when turning corners—not just to check my surroundings, but to let the car move far enough forward before making a decisive turn to avoid a collision. I recalled someone saying that to avoid falling, one must not fear the fall.

When I was told to position the car further to the left—using the car itself, rather than my own body, as the reference point—I was reminded of my workout this morning, out of the blue. I had a splitting headache; I wanted to run but couldn't, so I walked while crying inwardly. Looking back, perhaps my body was signaling me to wait a moment. After all, our souls view the world through our bodies. Perhaps we avoid injury by centering ourselves on the body rather than the soul.

Once the route felt familiar, he suggested that we try a new road—or perhaps head back home. I once asked a friend how it felt to learn to drive, and they answered in a single word: liberation. They felt a sense of liberation. The moment I felt a similar lump of emotion most keenly during those two hours of training was when I drove past my school—navigating a route I had seen countless times over four years from the passenger seat—but this time, driving it myself.

Still, I was slow. Still, I was wobbly. Yet as I drove down that hill at my own pace—a pace my hands, feet, mind, and body could handle—I felt an illusion of having become an adult. As if I could hear a silent voice telling me, you had truly grown up.