If I was a rich man — say I had won the lottery or inherited a ranch the size of Vermont from a distant, childless relative I have yet to meet — I would not buy a boat or a plane. I would probably not even buy a bigger house. What would I splurge on? Without a doubt: a driver. The feeling of reclining in the back seat, unburdened, as someone else navigates the world for you — now that is my idea of luxury.

I still enjoy driving, especially in a low-slung sports car that hugs the road or a rugged, body-on-frame all-wheel drive, its cabin elevated above the fray. But only when I have nowhere in particular to be and no set time to get there. When it comes to the more mundane rituals of driving to work, the hardware store, or the airport, I much prefer someone else take the wheel.

As a passenger, I revel in the quiet indulgence of letting go and watching the world pass by, free from the chaos of city traffic just outside. There is no need to worry about which turn to take or the condition of the road ahead, no surge of impatience as the light turns red. It is simply time suspended, resting in the back seat, unbothered and unhurried. A traffic jam becomes a mere pause — a brief interlude to make calls, respond to emails, or catch up on the news. And at the destination’s end, you arrive fresh, relaxed, and ready. I sometimes imagine this is how royalty must feel, whisked from place to place, floating through a day that has been arranged in advance.

So, when ride-sharing first took off — back in the days when Lyft cars wore fuzzy pink mustaches and Uber felt like a well-kept secret — I immediately signed up as a rider. The experience was different back then: the services drew attentive drivers who took pride in clean cars, courteous driving, and reliable wait times. It felt less like hiring a ride and more like being picked up by a reliable friend, one who knew exactly where to go and how to get there smoothly. Sitting in the front seat was not uncommon — something I often did, until the day I encountered my personal favorite: a pair of sisters.

One drove while the other sat in the passenger seat, ostensibly to navigate; however, her true role seemed to be as a lively foil for her sister. With her arm flung casually over the back, she looked back and forth between her sister, me, and the road. Together, they offered a running commentary on life itself, bouncing from topic to topic with the ease of old friends who had been having this conversation for years and had no plans to stop. They covered who they had seen at church last Sunday, which family member was the best cook, who was on a diet and who needed to be on one, and the importance of having your nails not just done, but really done. And then, of course, there was relationship advice — a favorite topic, apparently, as it took up nearly half the drive. With a laugh that filled the car, they turned the ride into something between a talk show and a cozy family reunion. If the trip had lasted long enough, I am sure that, between the two of them, I would have learned the answer to all the world’s problems.

Today, getting into a ride-share is something of a gamble; you never quite know what you will get. The drivers range widely — from professional chauffeurs and former cabbies to retirees eager for activity and gig workers just covering the basics. All you can do is hope you will not be assaulted by blaring music, talk radio, or a fog of vape smoke — and that by the end of the ride, you are not covered in dog hair or brushing off what you hope was just the last of some french fries.

Eventually, partly out of self-preservation and mostly out of curiosity, I began trying to engage each driver in conversation. Talking to them usually led to the radio being turned down and, with any luck, a bit more focus on the road. More interestingly, it became a way to see how people from very different backgrounds might respond to the same question. And, in a way, my question was aimed as much at understanding the most valuable skill for us as for the next generation.

The question was this: What is the most important skill you can teach a child?

The answers were as varied as the drivers themselves. Some spoke of faith, believing that a strong foundation would guide their children through life’s inevitable storms. Others emphasized family, reminding their children that bonds with loved ones are the truest constants they will ever know. Then there are those who pass along practical wisdom, often with a tone of quiet resolve, hoping their children will sidestep the pitfalls of their own youth. They might say, “Learn to manage money wisely,” or “Find a career that sustains you, not just financially but also in ways you cannot measure.”

Some parents, concerned with their children’s resilience, stress the importance of handling failure gracefully, of seeing setbacks as stepping stones rather than barriers. “You have to keep getting up,” one driver once told me, after describing his own tale of perseverance. He had seen difficult times and was adamant that if he could teach his children anything, it would be to keep going, no matter how often they fell.

A few parents focus on kindness, on seeing the humanity in others. They encourage empathy as a guiding principle, believing that understanding others will lead to a more fulfilling life. “If they can treat people well,” one driver reflected, “they will never be truly alone, no matter where life takes them.” And while some parents take a serious tone with their advice, others add a touch of humor, reminding us that sometimes the wisdom lies in how the advice is given. Yet, across all values and lessons, one response rises above the rest: teaching children how to make good decisions.

This ability — to weigh choices carefully, to consider both immediate and long-term effects — seems universally prized. One driver, a father of three, put it plainly: “If I can teach them to think through their choices, I know they will be alright. Everything else follows from that.” Another driver, a single mother working tirelessly to support her daughters, shared a similar sentiment: “I may not always be there, but if they know how to choose wisely, they will manage. They will find their way.”

The thought has stayed with me, perhaps because it speaks to a truth I had only sensed before: in a world that often feels unpredictable, where change is one of the few constants, the ability to decide well may be the greatest strength we can pass on. Good decisions are the foundation upon which lives are built.

Imagine the many facets of life touched by this ability: in love and friendship, where choosing the people we hold close shapes our happiness; in work, where choosing a direction aligned with one’s values fosters fulfillment; in daily interactions, where a word chosen thoughtfully can make all the difference. Even the smallest decisions sometimes reveal outcomes we could never foresee. Decision-making underpins our lives at every turn, from the monumental to the trivial. A good decision can steer us toward something better; a poor one can teach us resilience.

To make the most of it, we must teach ourselves and our children to pause, consider the options, and ask which choice is truly right. When we do, the best answer often emerges, and the way forward becomes clear.

But this skill goes beyond practical choices. It is about forming an attitude that balances patience with confidence, one that acknowledges uncertainty without letting it paralyze. Decision-making is rarely clear-cut; it requires us to weigh unknowns, to contend with the unexpected, and to trust not only logic but also intuition. For a child, learning to trust their judgment means learning to trust themselves. And that, ultimately, is what brings a sense of stability in an otherwise uncertain world.

Maybe this advice does not apply to you: perhaps you have mastered the art of making great decisions. Or, better yet, maybe you know those two sisters who can answer all of life’s questions for you. But for the rest of us? If, like me, your life is filled with choices, what better skill could you learn? ♦