I recently got a license, legally without any fraud—I had to say it out loud before you make any assumptions! I had to learn to drive as part of the Youth Empowerment Programme (YEP), and for this, I went for driving practice every day while I was posted in Chennai. I knew the basics but had to practice and master the art before going on the longest trip of my life, lasting 300 days.

One day, I woke up, went to the gym as usual, and returned to the centre. Swamiji was seated on the couch outside his room, deeply engrossed in thought. When he noticed us, he asked how the driving practice was going. We told him it was going well. He paused for a moment, reflected, and then said, ‘Drive to Mahabalipuram alone. A car will follow you from behind.’

In that instant, I felt a rush of emotions—excitement, the quiet joy of playing my own songs through the drive, and most of all, fear. A cascade of what-ifs followed. What if I crashed into the vehicle ahead? What if someone hit me? What if… what if…

Fear and excitement produce remarkably similar biological responses, and it is astonishingly easy for the mind to confuse one for the other. After running through every possible worst-case scenario and reassuring myself that nothing bad would happen, we got ready. I got into one car alone, while the rest of them settled into the car behind me.

We began the journey in heavy city traffic. Inside the city, the roads were busy and slow, but the moment we crossed the city limits, the traffic thinned. With open roads ahead, the urge to overtake one vehicle after another began to overpower every other feeling. The music playing in the car only intensified it. The emotion of driving at 120 kmph on the highway, overtaking car after car, is unmatched for a first-timer. 

We reached Mahabalipuram and were asked to simply check on a sculpture that was being made. As soon as I stepped out of the car, everyone from the other vehicle came up to me, telling me how proud they were of me. These were the very people who had taught me the intricacies of driving.

It was an incredible journey—one that taught me that trusting myself and my abilities was all I needed. On the way back, the sun had begun to set, and somewhere deep within, it felt as though it was whispering a simple truth: face your fears; that is the only way to move beyond them.

The road from Chennai to Mahabalipuram is just a regular highway, flanked by seemingly deserted stretches of plain land on either side. Having been to Mahabalipuram several times before, I assumed it wouldn’t excite me and that I would be focused solely on the road. But this time was different—I found myself enjoying the journey, truly enjoying it.

This trip wasn’t about the destination or the journey; it was about me and how I faced my fears: the fear of roads and the fear of losing control of a machine made by humans. My driving was not perfect that day, and it is still not perfect. But that day paved the way for a possibility of perfection. I'm leaving you all with one question: if fear were a person, what would be the first question you would ask him?