Page 1 of Not So Fast
One
Today, I feel…
Effusive. Optimistic. Ebullient, even. I know it’s not like me to be so endlessly upbeat, but things are looking up. Plus, it’s Margarita Monday so I’m guaranteed to end the day with my best friend, drinking tequila and consuming large amounts of cheese.
Mia Neal was too smart for her own good. Literally too smart. She’d missed two questions—two—on the SAT, and instead of rejoicing in her near-perfect achievement, she got mad. The instant she saw her score, she knew exactly which questions she’d missed, and precisely who was at fault.Those answers were subject to interpretation, based entirely on the test’s poor wording, and I shouldn’t be penalized for the mistakes of a business entity that makes millions off students and their families while perpetuating the idea that a four-year education is the only path after high school.This was what she’d wanted to scream at the powers that be.
As it turned out, there was no avenue for students to express grievances about test questions, and she was left to live with what had been deemed her shortcoming. Even now, an entire decade later, it still annoyed the hell out of her if she took the time to think about it, something she could admit happened a little too often.
Overthinking? It was her superpower. She turned everything over in her head, scrutinizing it from all angles and zeroing in on every flaw until she knew precisely where she’d come up short. Then she fixated on that. Forever.
“It was the closing segment. That’s where I went wrong with my last episode,” Mia said to her best friend, Jasmine Ramos, gesturing with a tortilla chip then dunking it into house-made salsa from Lenta, Mia’s and Jasmine’s favorite Mexican restaurant in Austin, Texas. It was the site of their regular Monday dinner date and had some of the best food in town.
“You’re too hard on yourself.” Jasmine took a sip of her margarita then carefully licked salt from the rim. “Who has the patience to listen to an entire podcast episode, anyway?”
Mia resented the implication on a number of levels. “If I do it right, it will require zero patience. I never want my listeners to get bored.”
“Yeah, but—”
“According to the data, I lost people right after the twenty-three-minute mark.”
Mia had spent hours that afternoon looking over the latest numbers in her podcast dashboard. What had started as a hobby a year ago had become a full-time obsession and was even bringing in some money, which was a very good thing because Mia was out of a job and living off her savings. Again.
“Maybe I should stop talking about things like AyrtonSenna’s win in Brazil in 1991. Although it was so emotional. His home country. A hard-fought battle. A race he’d longed to win, but never had. He was so caught up in the moment… But I worry my listeners might not be interested in the finer points of the history of Formula One.”
“And I worry that I created a monster by suggesting you do this,” Jasmine said.
“Well, you did. And now I can’t stop.”
Mia would never forget that night in her living room, when she and Jasmine had a brainstorming session about Mia’s possible career paths after she’d taken yet another job that paid a pittance—working in admissions at her alma mater, UT Austin.
“Everybody has a side hustle,” Jasmine had offered that night, three beers in. “I think you should stay where you are and add something extra.”
“Every side hustle I’ve tried has never paid off. Plus, people should be able to make a living in this country with only one job. There are too many systemic forces making it hard to get ahead.”
“Okay. But maybe focus on simply doing something so you can keep your apartment and not have the power turned off?”
“I refuse to drive all over town delivering takeout. All that wasted gas. And don’t get me started on plastic knives and forks. People should be cooking at home more. Maybe I could teach a class.”
“What about a podcast? Some people are making bank.”
“What am I going to do a podcast about? Welcome toToo Many Advanced Degrees with Mia Neal, the podcast where I tell you how to waste several years of your life earning diplomas that will not equip you to earn an adequate income.”
Jasmine cast Mia a look that night that said she was being ridiculous. Which wasn’t entirely inaccurate. “Do it about something you love.”
“Oh, sure. A podcast about hunting for typos on Wikipedia.”
“What about Formula One? You’ve been sulking for an entire week about the season ending.”
Sulking had been an understatement. The end of the season was always such a letdown. Formula One had been Mia’s sport of choice since she was a little girl and her aunt Judy introduced her to it. Of course Mia loved the speed and the elite nature of the competition—twentydrivers in theentire world. But she also loved the psychological gauntlet of having only two drivers on a team, automatically creating an intense rivalry since it was guaranteed that one driver would finish ahead of their teammate every single race.
She was equally in awe of the physical demands of the racing and in turn, she loved arguing with strangers on the internet about how the drivers were conditioned athletes who built up their bodies to withstand incredible G-forces, not simply guys who knew how to punch the throttle. And of course, who could ignore the clown car of impossibly sexy men behind the wheel? Frankly, it raised the question—what was in the water served at European go-kart tracks? Some magical beauty elixir?
Now that Formula One had exploded in the US, Mia no longer had to use a VPN to watch every race weekend, and there was an embarrassment of videos about the teams and drivers on YouTube, which only fueled her love for the sport.
“I don’t know. Formula One is such a male-dominatedspace. The trolls will come out and I’ll spend all my time arguing with them.”
“And destroying them with your logic. When have you ever passed up a chance to obliterate someone with your brain?”
