I have something to confess. I took an embarrassingly long time to get my drivers license.
I know, I know, it’s important to learn how to drive. It’s a life skill and most kids seem to get their licenses either their junior or sophomore year. But me? I held it off until the first semester of my senior year.
My haphazard road to licensehood started on track and pretty strong. Only a few weeks after turning 15 1⁄2, I made my way toward the DMV and took the permit test. I passed with flying colors and was ready to embark onto the mean streets of Los Gatos.
However, I have something even more embarrassing to confess.
Other than a somewhat serious fear of cats—which I am working on!—I’ve never been scared of much. Spiders have too many eyes for me to take them seriously. Clowns are just grown men who went hay-wire on the makeup. Heights usually have good views. The common heebie-jeebies and horror stories never phased me. I wasn’t scared of much, or even anything at all. Of course, this was all before I got into the driver’s seat of a car.
Yes. For the majority of my high school years, my greatest fear was driving.
In my humble defense, driving a car is the equivalent of driving a literal DEATH MACHINE. Your chances of survival are limited to an iron stallion whose controls and mechanics you are not completely aware of. Hitting the accelerator too hard. Breaking far too late. Spinning the wheel slightly the wrong way, leading you to spiral off the mainroad into possibly FATAL injury. My first time driving ended sitting in the West Valley Parking lot, drowning in my own tears from frustration. Later, that permit would expire, because I was too scared to learn to drive twelve months afterwards.
Because the scariest part? When you drive a car, you only have yourself to count on. And honestly, that feeling of frustration and isolation perfectly encapsulates what the beginning of high school felt.
But life without a license simultaneously cultivated my truest love—walking! Day in and day out, I trudged over the catwalk and into Westmont. My sophomore year, I started my day off with either Bryce Hadley’s booming voice or the whimsicality of Andy Evans’ journalism class. Either way, I started off my morning inspired. Hadley has forever taught me the importance of passion and good ol’ fashioned argument. He has brought nothing but enthusiasm into my life, whether it be through his teaching in the classroom or on the softball field. On the other hand, Evans welcomed me into Room 58—my home for the next four years when the one on Newville Dr couldn’t fulfill the role. In Journalism, I found my voice; my love for music, art, politics, and literature intertwined with my obsession with words. With each sentence, I fall deeper and deeper in love with writing. However, the best part of The Shield will forever be the journalists themselves. I’ve met my favorite people and lifelong role models in Room 58, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. It sounds cliche, but surround yourself with people who inspire you. In Room 58, it’s hard not to be inspired. Thank you to Kendall Albrecht, Cat Kemp, Adam Sarsfield, Faith Gonia, and Rina Weaver for making Journalism a blast. No matter how terrible the rest of my week might be, I can always count on 8:30 – 10:05 a.m. on B-Days to be great.
My junior year, I attempted to drive again. I learned that it’s the small victories that count. One day I would practice in the parking lot. Another day in a residential area. Was I probably going far too slow for anyone around me’s liking? Yes. But each and every venture of driving was a victory in itself. Moreover, it wasn’t a victory for some broader team, community, school, or organization in hopes of some other long term prize. My progress in driving was hard work by me, for me. Overall, I’ve learned two important lessons from overcoming my greatest fear.
First important lesson I’ve learned from driving: when you are on the road, you must trust that the people around you are following the rules as well, you must trust that to some extent, they are looking out for you. Trust isn’t just about believing in the capabilities of others; it’s also about believing in yourself. Conquering my fear of driving taught me that trust is a two-way street—you must trust yourself to make the right decisions and trust others to do the same. I started to gain that trust in people my junior year of high school.
I realized the importance of maintaining friendships, showering the people in my life with care whenever possible, and talking through my feelings and emotions. This sounds dumb and too straightforward to hold any actual truth, but do the things you love with the people you love. Sometimes it’s something as simple as Word Hunt with Veronica Azimov or sitting in the passenger seat late at night conversing with Sana Sharma and Avalon Kelly. Other times it’s running stupid errands with Heather Tran, or doing odd jobs with Maria Edrisinghe and Amanda Kappenman. My highschool experience could not complete without my softball team that honestly just feels like a friend group we’re forced to play a sport with. I became even closer with my teammates, hanging out with Lily Bourne, Madeline Crowley, Regan Steele, Aarushi Kulkarni, and Ellie Rodhouse, whenever, wherever (spoiler alert: we were usually at Popeyes). The summer between my junior and senior year of high school included some of the best months of my life. I spent mornings, passenger princessing for Keira De Vita on our way to Walden West at a crisp 7:30 in the morning. She invited me into her own world with warm, open arms. Weekends were for the mountains with the hiking group. Faith Gonia and Owen Andersen were two of the central members. Thank you for nodding along to my yapping, no matter how early in the morning it was, and for the unwavering support to all of my dilemmas. I can always count on you guys for great advice and insight. Your words hold great weight.
I realized that there are people looking out for me, acting in my best interest. I discovered that my feelings and ambitions are valid, that there are people that actively hope for me to reach my goals. It sounds counterintuitive, but I found trust in myself through trusting them.
Now for my senior year. I have my license. I realized the importance of taking on the difficult, as it is always rewarding. I now have enough faith in myself to do what is best for me. I know myself, I know what I like and dislike, as well as the person I want to be today, tomorrow, or in ten years. Next year, I venture off to UC Berkeley with an open mind and an open heart. I am the person I am because of the care and support from the wonderful people at Westmont—I can’t wait to spread the love. I know that the presence of my loved ones at Westmont today exceeds their physical existence, their kindness and sincerity has led me to where I am today. Though I have always been a little scared to travel on new roads and paths, I am not worried.
Second important lesson I’ve learned from driving: when you get lost, just retrace your steps, you can always find your way back.