signofseblife

I am not a speed addict, but I relish high speeds. While I’m now retired, I spent 16 seasons as a Formula 1 driver. Racing at over 200 miles per hour became second nature to me.

It sounds crazy, but being behind the wheel of a car that could kill me became my safe place. All the noise in my life grew quiet the moment I jumped into my racecar. This dangerous environment was where I felt most alive and calm. Despite being under ultrahigh stress, it was the place where everything slowed down. It was as if I could disappear and forget about time.

My love of driving began after I received a small go-kart as a childhood Christmas present. I grew up in Heppenheim, Germany. Since the backyard of our house was too tight to make turns around, my father poured out a large bucket of water and taught me how to drift as a technique to avoid crashing into a wall. I became infatuated with the rush and control of driving. I found something that gave me confidence and self-efficacy. Eventually, I started racing others, and I craved the sensation of speed.

But F1 racing is not only about pure speed. It is about how late you dare to brake and how fast you can manage to get around the next corner. It is about trial and error, and testing different approaches to go faster. Racing was where my mind could play and grow.

While I usually prefer cold, quiet and spacious environments, the extremely hot, noisy narrowness behind the wheel of a racecar is where I am most comfortable. I found it was the one place where I happily embraced the dichotomy of life.

Sometimes, this was a mental contrast in the intense moments leading up to championship-deciding races, when all my hard work boiled down to a few laps. I remember thinking that I couldn’t wait for the race to start, and I also didn’t want the race to start.

There were moments when I lost control of the car because something broke or I simply pushed too hard. I’ve had my fair share of crashes. Even though a crash occurs very quickly, when it happens, time seems to slow down. You begin to realize the shattering reality and consequences of chasing high speeds. The brutal force of a crash reminds you of what you’re playing with. But I kept racing.

In more than two decades of racing, there was a single time when I seriously questioned jumping into the car again. It was during the Belgian Grand Prix in August 2019, after a young French driver, Anthoine Hubert, lost his life in a racing accident at age 22.

I have had accidents myself, but they were fortunately only minor ones. I have seen others crash, too. But that young man had his whole life ahead of him, and it just stopped with all of us watching.

I called my wife, Hanna, and told her I did not want to race the next day after the accident. I slept poorly that night; yet I decided to race. After that weekend, I felt differently about my sport, which I only grasped after I retired. I was never afraid of the speeds, but now I could see them, not just feel them. I began to experience a responsibility that I had not had before. I started to understand that speed, progress and innovation only matter if they move us in the right direction.

Today, I live a slower life and run a little farm. I still love high speeds, but I have simply stopped racing time. I learned that the greatest joy is to discover something in your life that puts you in the here and now. Passing this lesson on to my children is my real job today. Spending time with them and watching them grow up makes me extremely aware that the time we are given is limited. As an F1 driver and a father, I did not — and cannot — beat time. Time is too fast to hold on to; it will always be faster than me, whether I am racing it or not.

I recognize that I might have been using racing to avoid dealing with tough situations. Racing was my escape. We all have times when we would like to disappear and avoid difficult things. But in the end, this is impossible. We must face the hard times head-on and take the time to slow down to do so.

When people ask me about my best race, I say that it is still to come. I have plenty to look forward to. These days I enjoy the process of exploration rather than the result. I learned that my life is not about finding the next big thing, but about trusting my curiosity.

I realized that there is more than one passion or race I can pursue. In the journey of self-discovery, no matter how fast you go, there are no shortcuts.