By Sunita Parasuraman

When I first met my husband, one of the things that attracted me was his love of driving. He's not exactly an expert; his passengers don't always feel safe. But he enjoys long drives. As someone who dislikes being behind the wheel, the idea of having him chauffeur me around tipped the scales in his favor.

Driving has always felt like a chore to me. For more than a decade, I commuted long distances every day. The routine was exhausting, and the constant pressure on my feet eventually gave me plantar fasciitis. Then, in 2018, I bought one of the first Tesla Model 3s. When I discovered its traffic-aware cruise-control feature, I was thrilled. For the first time, my feet could relax. It took time to trust the technology, but once I did, driving became bearable.

Even as the strain lessened and my commutes felt smoother, I held back from ceding control to Tesla's "auto lane change." I was content to let the car ease my effort but not ready to let it replace my own judgment.

My husband, meanwhile, treated his leased Tesla like a toy. When it was time for a renewal, he upgraded to a Model Y with Supervised Full Self-Driving $(FSD)$. Watching him use this technology was both thrilling and a little nerve-racking. The car adjusted its speed, handled turns, navigated stop signs, made lane changes on the freeway and even responded to traffic lights. It had three settings: chill, standard and hurry. He displayed the giddy delight of a teenager showing off a new gadget.

I knew the system had safety measures. If the driver wasn't paying attention, it would warn you, and if you ignored several alerts, it would temporarily suspend FSD, a "strikeout." Even so, I wasn't sure I could fully trust it. What if the software failed and I crashed? What if I became complacent and stopped paying attention? What if my brain dulled from lack of engagement?

As I rode with my husband more often, something unexpected happened. I stopped gripping the armrest. I stopped worrying. Sitting beside him, I found myself carried along by the car's deliberate, flowing motions and slipped into a calm I'd cultivated through meditation. A few days before the federal EV tax credit expired in September, I traded in my seven-and-a-half-year-old Model 3 for a Model Y with FSD.

The first time I let the vehicle take control, something shifted. As the car guided itself through traffic, I felt tension melt away. It wasn't just the ease of the ride; it was the sensation of letting go.

For someone like me, who likes to stay in control, surrender has never come easily. Yet here I was, cruising through traffic in quiet surrender to the car's code and sensors. It felt like liberation.

And now I have something better than a chauffeur. My car never tires, panics or wavers; it doesn't jolt at brake lights or grumble at traffic jams. It simply drives, with quiet confidence and near-perfect composure.

People often worry that technology makes us lazy. Maybe it does. But in my case, it has done something subtler: It taught me to trust in the rhythm of the ride. It's a small miracle I never expected from a car.

Sunita Parasuraman is a finance executive in Fremont, Calif.

(END) Dow Jones Newswires

December 04, 2025 10:00 ET (15:00 GMT)

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