While the pressure to get a driver’s license the moment you turn 16 is intense, my experience of not having a car has taught me that independence doesn’t always have to look like a set of keys. 

For a long time, not having my own vehicle felt like a significant hurdle; the social expectation to be mobile in high school is immense, and I’ll admit that waiting much longer than my peers to drive was often a hassle — and at times, lightly embarrassing. In a culture that equates driving with adulthood, being the one who needed a ride could feel like falling behind. 

However, that perceived limitation ended up being one of the most rewarding parts of my high school years. Because I wasn’t isolated behind the wheel, I discovered a genuine love for walking and biking, which allowed me to experience my surroundings at a much more intentional, grounded pace that most people miss at 60 miles per hour.

I recognize that living in the middle of town provided a logistical advantage that made this possible and I know that for those in less accessible or rural areas, a car is a strict necessity rather than a choice. But for me, staying pedestrian opened up a different way of existing. Some of my most cherished memories didn’t happen while I was driving, they happened during long, winding walks across town or while crammed into a friend’s backseat, where the travel itself became the activity rather than just a means to an end. These moments of transit became spaces for deep conversation and laughter that wouldn’t have occurred if we had all arrived in separate vehicles.

I actually have a large circle of friends who also waited a bit longer to drive, or who still rely on alternative transport to this day, and we found that this shared way of getting around actually brought us closer together. It created a unique group dynamic where we functioned as a unit, coordinating our travel and finding creative ways to venture. 

While I believe that taking driver’s ed and learning the skill of driving is an important life milestone for safety and preparedness, I’ve realized that rushing into immediate car ownership isn’t always the absolute necessity it’s made out to be. Finding value in slower, more communal methods of transport showed me that there is no “correct” timeline for adulthood. Ultimately, I learned that some of the best moments and longest-lasting impressions happen, not in the driver’s seat, but when you are fully present in the journey.