My breath has collected on the sedan’s cold window, briefly blotting out the sparse landscape as we speed through the early pre-dawn rural back roads of South Carolina. My Dad has turned on the heat, but neither of us really need it. Merely a convention, a human characteristic that we’ve adopted to fit in, I love the chill of the air. I feel that familiar pull, from deep inside my core. To run free through the pine forests that we are passing, to feel the cool rush of air into my lungs, to feel strong, invincible, and wild.