I earned my first money drag racing, in a car that I kinda, but not really, stole for two weeks until I had the money to pay for it.

Not that I was any good at racing;
I was just strongly driven by a small crush on adrenaline, a big love for freedom, and a huge fear of being average.

I was also underestimated a lot for being a girl, so…

My God, how such a seemingly simple thing like driving a car can give someone such strength.

I felt empowered.

It felt like, finally, after 18 years of suppression from the man (and woman. I mean my parents), I took control.

There were so many possibilities. I could do or be anything;
So, I was a fraction of everything.

I was even an outlaw for a while. That suited me well, until it didn’t anymore.
I was mostly intrigued and surprised by that world; it was so new, and yet it felt so safe.

Now that I think about it, that turned into a little bit of a career.

Oh, shut up. You’re not perfect either. And when you’re an odd 19-year-old girl from a small town, with daddy, mommy, and… let’s just say family issues, the temptation to make yourself seen is huge.

By the time I was 23, I upped my driving game, started and left school a few times; seen some awesome places, experienced some intense emotions, had my own (fictive) computer company; moved a dozen times; made some interesting connections and some questionable choices; got arrested, lost everything, and started over.

So by the time I was 23, I had seen and lived every adventure I was curious about, and I saw the world.
I got to meet the good and the really bad side of it.

There were moments when I had nothing, not even a place to live; and moments when it seemed I had everything.
What I really had, though, was a good intuition: they were mere moments. All of them.

And moments aren’t really worth compromising for or losing your mind over, so I didn’t.
There were even moments that forced me to stop compromising;
I stepped out of my family because it had no positivity to offer, and I consumed mine.

I do admit, there’s something confusing in not belonging.
It gives you freedom—lots of it;
But you don’t belong.

It’s like you’re always a tourist in people’s lives.
Staying long enough to get to know them, leaving just before you might get attached.

I never had any plans with my life.
It felt arrogant to make any, while living that kind of lifestyle, to be honest; and when I started over and was actually excited about making plans, I couldn’t make any.

It may have something to do with my childhood, when I never knew what the day would bring;
Or with my short, wanna-be-gangsta career and its unpredictable nature;
But there’s something about making plans that just marks the predictable as undeniably predictable, and you can’t look away anymore.

I woke up in a new world this time.
This world didn’t even give me an accomplice, space to be myself, or any kind of freedom or credit.
It didn’t interest me, yet I needed to make a connection with it.
It felt forced, and belonging seemed further away than ever.

I was judged, and my life was trivialised.
It made me feel small.

But I still didn’t belong. So there was no patience, kindness, or empathy just waiting there to help me regroup.

I was also experiencing a new kind of adrenaline rush: watching out the window and wondering how long this was going to stay my view.

I was paralysed.
Empty.

And then a friend gave me an old car he won gambling, I think, and a dog.
The car was an E36, and the dog was Chilly.

That changed things. I had my strength and freedom back, plus some purpose.

To be continued… maybe.