I have been blind to the beauty of Wilton. Living in South Wilton, my daily views of town consisted of the infamous, never-ending stress street also known as Route 7.
From the passenger seat of my parents’ car, I watched the cars whiz past at 60 m.p.h. as my parents muttered frustrated curses as they sat, trying to make a left turn. I studied the frustration on drivers’ faces in the bumper-to-bumper cars as they prayed to make the green arrow turn at the intersection of Wolfpit Road. I witnessed many sharp lane switches when a car would suddenly switch on their left turn signal, which would fill every car behind them with frustration. I listened to an orchestra of beeps and swears from surrounding cars which indicated that an irrevocable mistake was made. All my senses were consumed by the stresses of this road, so I never focused on the town itself. With no license and no control over where or what time to drive, all my knowledge of Wilton’s architecture and environment were these terrifying vehicles and the tension during rush hour on Route 7.