#未来へ向けた挑戦(53) 雪の峠で失ったもの、残ったもの ― 免許証を捨てられない理由 (英語版) What I Lost and What Remained on a Snowy Mountain Pass - Why I Cannot Throw Away My Driver’s License
I ride five kilometers every morning on my electric bicycle.
As I cut through the wind and stop at traffic lights, I sometimes glance at the cars driving beside me.
I used to commute by car until I was sixty.
If that accident had not happened,
would I still be holding the steering wheel today?
⸻
It was February 9.
It was snowing.
Living in Shizuoka, where it rarely snows, I went out of my way to buy tire chains and practiced putting them on before heading to Hakone. School had been difficult. That day, I was running away.
I got off the highway at Gotemba. It was around 4 p.m., dim, with light snow falling. When I called the hotel, they told me, “You should arrive before it gets dark.” So I hurried.
As I approached Otome Pass, two cars began closing in behind me.
What we would now call aggressive driving.
The moment I exited a tunnel, I tried to move slightly to the left.
I did not turn the wheel sharply. Just a little.
The car slid.
It skidded straight into a snowbank piled up against the guardrail.
The two cars behind me drove off.
I was left alone on the snowy mountain pass.
I looked to my left. The side mirror was folded in.
“I need to fix it,” I thought.
The engine was still running. The car could move.
Shaking and swaying, I somehow made it to the hotel.
Later I thought:
I could have died.
⸻
My husband did not answer his phone, so I called my son in New Zealand.
“Mom, that car is totaled,” he said.
The hotel staff came outside to help. We unloaded all my belongings, and the car was taken away by tow truck.
I threw away what I could, mailed important items home, and put only necessities into a backpack. I boarded a bus bound for the Gotemba outlet mall. Many of the passengers were foreign tourists, and I sat there as one of them.
Inside, it felt like a major accident.
From the outside, I looked like an ordinary passenger.
I returned home by train and went to work as if nothing had happened.
At a Suzuki dealership managed by one of my former students, I signed a contract for a new car.
It was the rational decision.
But the trauma did not disappear.
Tunnels were especially frightening.
For the final year before retirement, getting into the car every morning filled me with fear.
⸻
Then I retired.
I sold the new car.
It had not even been a year.
I switched to an electric bicycle. Seven years have passed.
My life now is not inconvenient.
I can go to the gym and shopping by bicycle.
For longer trips, I go with my husband.
But I cannot throw away my driver’s license.
Even though we have the My Number card, a driver’s license is still convenient.
It is a gold license. If I renew it, it lasts another five years.
I may never use it, yet I cannot let it go.
It is probably not because I want to drive again.
It is because I do not want to completely close the possibility of the future.
If AI continues to advance and fully autonomous cars become normal,
if a day comes when a license is no longer required,
could I ride in a car again without fear?
I laugh and think maybe I cannot afford it anyway.
Still, I hope that day might come.
⸻
I did not kill anyone.
I was not injured.
Only the car was destroyed.
That experience shaped who I am today.
I let go of the steering wheel,
but I did not let go of my right to choose my life.
As I ride five kilometers each morning, I think:
My challenge for the future may not be to drive again,
but to consider how I will relate to a changing car-centered society.
My driver’s license
is not attachment.
It is a card of hope.
#LifeAfterRetirement
#AccidentMemory
#FacingTrauma
#ElectricBicycleLife
#GoldLicense
#LifeTurningPoint
#ChallengeForTheFuture
#CarSociety
#SeniorLife
#NoteEssay
