Sixteen hits like a drumroll. One day you are pleading that you be driven. The next one, you have a steering wheel in your hand, with the evident understanding that you do not know anything about what you are doing. The Chilled driving session is not going out on a racing spree with the sun. It is of breathing low and easy, of making turns and discovering that cool always goes with calm.

The primary drives are electric. Your foot is noodling in the air over the pedals to the bite. Every one of the stop signs is dramatic. But then something shifts. You are aware that the car is responsive. Press a little. It moves a little. Ease off. It slows. Bread and butter cause and effect. This type of simplicity earns mute trust.

Easily going does not imply show-offs. Rapid accelerator and brakes are such an issue that nobody is bothered about it, unless it is the ego. A smooth takeoff, though? That feels like gliding. We are always told by the teachers to drive as though there is a cup of coffee on the board. No spills. No sudden jolts. Just flow.

Music low. Windows cracked. Seat adjusted just right. These miniature entertainments calm the nerves. They make it an occasion that leaves one anxious, rhythmic. Highway is no longer a test, it is now similar to a conversation. You watch traffic lights. They talk back in colors. You signal. Other cars respond. It’s subtle, almost polite.

The customers of the vehicle can be… overbearing parents. One puff of them, and you are stiff at the shoulders. However, even that is appended in the process. You learn to filter. To focus. To be able to trust your judgment and at the same time be open to feedback. That balance is gold.

Mistakes happen. A stall. A rough park. Maybe around and round and with a raised eye brow. It’s fine. Nobody learns how to parallel park during his first day. It is the muscle memory that is sewed up with the repetition driving. The cold process celebrates errors as learning curve and not tragedy.

It is free, as well, but not so noisy as in movies. It is the strength to run to work out without making someone take him/her. It is the sunset upon the windshield when you are headed home after school. It is not a fireworks display when it comes to freedom but rather a sunrise.

A normal driving experience when one is sixteen years old should be grounded. Predictable. Safe. Boring, even. Boring is underrated. Boring- you are in charge. And it is assurance that turns a bashful teenager into an expert in the road.

The wheel becomes gradually less strange as a machine and more of your hands. The road widens. Your thoughts settle. You idealize no longer any reflection. You just drive.

Calm becomes habit. Habit becomes skill. And talent, thus selectively and slowly cultivated, is permanent before all the thrill of that first license photograph is forgotten.