When I first got my driver's license at the terrifying age of 16, it didn't take long

for me to recognize the relationship between money and freedom.

It was strikingly obvious every time I would be unroot to the latest house party and the

gaslight would illuminate the darkness of my dashboard.

Ever the spend thrift with a nose that could sniff out a Hollister's sail from a mile

away, I usually didn't have enough money to fill up the tank all the way, which meant

my teen years were punctuated by the delicate dance of only ever having a quarter tank to

power me through my week before I would return, tail between my legs, to the sonoco station

at the exit between my school and my house to put $15 on pump 7, please.

Having a full tank was an unthinkable luxury at 17 when I instead opted to spend my part-time

job money on American Eagle Polos and macaroni grill half-priced entrees, because the Midwest

remains undefeated in its ability to offer just an eye-wateringly mediocre adolescence.

But I recently heard an analogy that stuck with me.

You wouldn't exclusively drive around from gas station to gas station, just trying to see

how much gas you can fit in your tank, because accumulating as much gas as possible isn't

the point.

And gas is just a means to an end.

The metaphor, of course, is meant to critique the bewildering ways some of us approach money.

Life's gas in the tank.

When you're 16 and you only have $30 in your checking account, the idea of making a full

tank the primary objective of your newfound freedom is preposterous.

What do you need a full tank for?

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