In exploring cars to buy I learned about brakes. I had no idea that there were options. I mean, clearly we have evolved from when I was riding a tricycle and slammed my red sneaker on the sidewalk. Bicycles rely on a back pedal, or a hand clamp. Pads are involved with cars because I have seen them on repair bills. When I was a child my family owned a boat, and it was eminently clear to my fretful mother that there were no brakes at all. 

But the new models have something called regenerative brakes. Just the name inspires confidence. My limited knowledge is that when you press on the pedal, the momentum that is sacrificed, the one you paid dearly for at the gas pump, is channeled into the battery. Instead of working against yourself, you capture energy for use later. Driving the Tesla was an adjustment because all I had to do to stop was to stop going. By that I mean, letting go of the gas was enough. There was no need for the added message from the brake. 

Combined with its name, the whole process reminds me of God. When I manage to cease barreling in a futile direction, say complaining, that power is freed up to carry me somewhere better, later. It happened the other day. I put the brakes on an internal diatribe about some imagined inconvenience. Just cut off the fuel. Then later my mood was softened to the point that I could enjoy the person I had so recently been annoyed by. 

How about that for cutting edge technology.