Life and Death

Sixteen is a liberating number. In cities across the country, it is the youngest age at which you can test for a driver’s license. Being able to drive holds great implications. Providing for your own transportation introduces a sense of independence and freedom. With this comes a time-consuming education period. During my hours of driving, I came to understand the transience of life and the abruptness of death.

Learning to drive was a long process. When I began driving, the car moved erratically; it paid no attention to my actions behind the wheel. A tap on the brake would result in a lurch forward; a tap on the accelerator would result in a lurch back; a turn of the steering wheel would result in a lurch to the side. With more time and more experience, however, these problems lessened. Abrupt brakings became smoother; wider turns became more precise. As I grew more comfortable with the car, my zones of driving widened. Parking lots led to neighborhood streets. Neighborhood streets advanced to interstate highways.

A new perspective of the world resulted from being in driver’s seat. After all, it was a different experience. For teenagers in general, a significant portion of their childhood lives were spent in the passenger seats, simply observing the world pass by. These numerous hours can be interpreted differently. Many view it as the time necessary for transportation. Some perceive it as time to relax, start a conversation or enjoy the scenery. Others perceive it as a waste of time and bring work to do on the ride. Despite the differences, these various interpretations all share the element of passive waiting. Their actions have little influence on the driving. However, driving itself requires the element of active control.

This element brought about the discoveries I made about life and death. It was a typical Thursday afternoon, and I was driving back home. This was a routine path: travel down Broad Street to Interstate 3, cruise south on the freeway to Exit Four, head north-east for Downtown Nashua and turn right towards my neighborhood. While on the highway, my prior experience took control, reminding me to maintain my speed, keep my distance and stay alert. This went smoothly, until I steered the car towards the exit ramp. In my peripheral vision was a frightening sight. The carcass of a small squirrel was on the side of the road.

Road kill is not a foreign sight. In fact, I have seen more of it in recent days, possibly from the city government’s lack of funds to clean the streets. Usually, road kill rarely evokes strong emotion from me despite its graphic nature. After all, it’s simply natural selection in action. One view speculates that hunger had motivated the squirrel to venture out of its original habitat to in hopes of finding sustenance. However, it did not consider the traffic of the road. Its life was quickly ended and the squirrel gene pool became slightly smaller. Another view considers the incident as conflict between man and squirrel. The squirrel’s small delicate body is unable to compete with the man’s intellectual capacity. The outside world, shaped by man’s willpower and intellect, is too dangerous for the squirrel to understand.

However, the contrasts present in this scene immediately struck me. The human mind is constantly analyzing the world around. This can be applied to the details of the car trip. For example, the mind handles time management, selecting appropriate routes and estimating arrival times. It absorbs sensory details, seeing the light from the rear-view windows and listening to the rev of the engine. It manages physical coordination, rotating the steering wheel or depressing the gas pedals. These aspects, and many others, merge to compose the entire experience of driving. On the other hand, the squirrel follows its basic animal instincts, searching for necessities like food, water and shelter. My effort was put into driving carefully. The squirrel’s effort led to its abrupt death.

Insights can be drawn when considering this incident at a larger scale. Any observer may look upon the squirrel and notice its powerlessness. Its lack of intellect makes it appear insignificant and disposable. Yet its death brings the existence of a higher life force into question. Does this force view human life as insignificant, just as we view the squirrel as insignificant? Are we humans merely squirrels on the side of the highway? We may be living under a deluded sense of control of our own lives. Flash floods in Ohio and France, earthquakes in South America and Indonesia, tornados in Mid-West America and other natural disasters cause heavy casualties. The squirrel’s life was extinguished at the hands of nature and the unpredictability of life. One day, ours will be too.

I continued driving on the high way ramp, and merged back into local traffic. The remainder of the trip followed the daily routine. However, I now saw the climactic moment of getting my driver’s license in a different light. Yes, it introduces more independence. Yes, it grants more control. But do these matter in the long run? I can do everything humanely possible to work for my future. Yet I rest in the providence of a higher force.
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This was another essay in my AP English Final Portfolio. I enjoyed writing it, so I decided to upload it.