I enjoy driving. Whether as only a means of transportation, or a more social event, the ability to have such unadulterated freedom is something rare at my age. Generations have enjoyed the road as a sign of liberty, and I am no different.
   San Francisco is a beautiful city, especially when seen from a car. Strange roads can lead you to a view so picturesque you want to park and just linger. Other times you feel as if you're confronted with a challenging problem; streets that switch back or inexplicably turn into pedestrian staircases. Even if the people who live in this neighborhood know how to get around, you still wonder, how do they get their groceries to their houses?
   Driving, though, can also be personal. The sky just before a rain storm with dark clouds reflecting soft colors of the setting sun. Headlights early in the morning casting strange shadows in San Francisco fog. The moment after you arrive to your destination, when the engine is shut down, you and your car are both quiet and peaceful.
   I enjoy many things more than driving. My time in the car, however, is something I often take for granted but shouldn't. I live in a wonderful place to drive, and I have had wonderful experiences while navigating the hills and alleys of my city. Like a form of meditation, or a temporary escape, driving is an activity where I can relax and become just another car driving off in to the night.