Driving and Life

I have a new car. Technically, it is a used car. But it is a 2006 that I bought with 14000 miles on it. So basically new. It has a sweet engine for a car its size but the thing that really makes it snazzy is the transmission. But I digress . . . this particular car is very fun to drive. It has a tight suspension and F1-style paddle shifters on the steering wheel. How can you not drive it fast?

Don and I had a discussion regarding his level of comfort -- or lack thereof -- when riding as a passenger. He even went so far as to ask for money to fund research on the subject. What you don't realize in Don's post is that all of his anxiety is misdirected. You see, as we were passing under the new New Street bridge, I casually mentioned that I had no fear of dying. This, I think, is why Don got anxious because, like most normal people, I think he has at least some reservations about the end of consciousness.

Not to worry, I'm not suicidal. Nor do I actively seek out opportunities to risk my life. The simplest explanation I can give you is this: Suppose some guy comes up to me and sticks a gun in my chest, asking for my wallet. I won't give it to him. I've gone over this many times in my head and practiced my response, "If you can live with my blood on your hands -- if you can live with the notion that you've prematurely ended my potential to better this world -- if the oh-so-limited amount of cash in my back pocket is worth that to you, just pull the trigger." You see, I'm quite satisfied with all of the life I've lived up until now. Sure I think I can do a lot more and, yeah, my friends and family would probably suffer (at least I hope they'd be slightly saddened) but everyone's got to go. Death is a part of life and it has to be dealt with just like any other adverse event.

I'd rather sprint for a single win and lose my life in so doing than sit back, play it safe and roll across the line with the herd for the rest of eternity.