Over the course of our lives, our list of fears grows like a weed. As children, our worries are few and simplistic: monsters under the bed, reprimand for disobedience, getting lost at Disneyland. With time, though, the unfolding world and our increasing sense of awareness introduce financial, familial, and physical hazards that menace our naïve optimism.
Thankfully, life is a precious balance; every concern is contested by a moment of winsome. Even the most arduous journeys uncover intervals of hope and comfort. Most often, we find reprieve through the very things that cause our distress. Our embarrassing, combative families can heal the deepest of wounds. The threat of soreness or pain never seems to keep us from physical activity. Despite our motivation to accrue financial wealth, we find greater satisfaction in charitable giving.
But if there is a good, pleasing foil to every fear, why then do we dwell on the hardships, and what can be done to renovate our perspective?
I can’t hope to explain why anxiety clings to us so dearly, but I can offer a simple suggestion to harvest contentedness: be present. If dismay stalks you, there’s a good chance it chooses to strike as you visualize the future. The uncertainty of what will be rattles our sense of control – perhaps the root of our deepest fears. You must therefore choose to see the beauty of the present moment.
How, though, do we retrain our wandering minds? There are certainly more cooperative methods than my own, but I’ll share a personal tactic. When the worry of what’s to come feels unbearable, I take a drive. For some, hitting the road with no particular destination is a good way to think. For me, it’s the most direct path to the present.
It’s not a perfect formula, however. I can’t jump into just any vehicle and instantly disengage with dread. I need the right car, the right feel, the right sound. I didn’t become an automotive journalist for medicinal perks, but vehicles like the Jaguar F-Type SVR convertible sure feel like a prescription.
The automotive cure doesn’t always start at first glance, yet the F-Type is a sort of aesthetic therapy. Mesmerizing curves, a despotic stance, and dazzling “Ultra Blue” bodywork strike the right balance of sultry and sinister. Hood rivets and an adjustable carbon fiber wing signal the SVR’s lordship over the F-Type lineup. Instantly, fear for the unknown becomes reverence for what prowls before me.
Visual intrigue meets tactile delight within the F-Type’s cabin. Quilted leather, microfiber suede, and brushed metal surfaces are like tangible Zen. The top glides into the place behind the cockpit, permitting California’s brilliant sun to vanquish every shadow. I ignite the 5.0-liter supercharged V8.
My ears are filled with a booming melody from the exhaust’s titanium speakers. Each dab of the throttle elicits vicious power, straining my muscles as they grip the leather wheel. My senses are tuned to the roadster’s nimble movements. Even at mild velocity, the F-Type SVR is an immersive experience.
Do I need a British-built performance car to disrupt the ebbs and flows of life’s unease? No, and you don’t need an infallible method to appreciate the present. One conscious moment can uncover today’s subtle pleasures – you need only to create it.