Project Start

The project begins the moment I turn the key.

I twist the key, the starter sings, and every gauge wakes up at once. The air in the garage trembles just a little, and my heartbeat settles, one beat at a time. A supercar on my right, a 1000cc race replica on my left. Both the same red, both a match for the me of this morning.

The bike first. I drop the visor and the world goes one notch clearer. Cold air slides through the gap by my cheeks, and the texture of the road reaches all the way to my fingertips. The corner comes at me like a line on a screen, and I quietly match my breath to it. Not with force, with flow. The throttle, only a touch, but exact. The engine's pulse layers over a heartbeat steady as a metronome. "Project Start—ignition, go." I don't say it out loud, but the chorus in my head is already at the hook.

Back in the garage, the car this time. The weight of sinking into the seat straightens my spine. The steering trembles lightly at the same tempo as my pulse, and the tach needle climbs in silence. At the edge of my view, a single line of morning light stretches out. "Beat by beat, I'm in control." I nod, dead serious, and press down just a little. The nose strokes the horizon, and music with no speakers fills the cabin. "Whoa-oh, we ride and roll." The song always starts on its own, but I make sure to harmonize. I'm serious, so.

The light click of the turn signal almost makes me laugh. No course map today, no destination. Starting is the point in itself. Inside the wheel, start lines keep appearing and vanishing. There's just one watchword: Flow, not force. Steer only the angle I need, return only as much as I need. That alone, and an unknown straight stretches out ahead.

I usually don't decide on a destination. When I drive without deciding, the road chooses me first. If you asked me whether I'm the bike or the car, the right answer is: both. The moments like walking a thin needle, and the moments like splitting a low cloud—I can count them all in the same single beat.

When I kill the engine, the quiet comes rushing back in no time. But the starter in my chest is still turning. The next step begins from the inside, faster than turning a key. I re-grip my helmet and shut the car door softly. Today's me is—probably both. Two ignitions to brighten one morning.

One more time, I quietly match my breath. "Project Start—ignition, go." Come on, let's go. I'll decide the destination later. For now, setting off is everything.