The thing about being a toddler with adult memories is that you have to constantly remember to act age-appropriate. It's exhausting.
At eighteen months old, I was expected to have a vocabulary of maybe twenty words, to speak in two-word phrases at most, and to express myself primarily through pointing, grunting, and the occasional tantrum when things didn't go my way. I was supposed to be learning colors, shapes, and the groundbreaking concept that objects continue to exist even when you can't see them.
Instead, I was a twenty-eight-year-old consciousness trying to remember to say "car" instead of "automobile" and "up" instead of "could you please pick me up, I'd like a better vantage point."
[System Note: You almost said "facilitate" yesterday when you wanted help with a toy. Facilitate. You're eighteen months old. The most complex word you should know is "banana."]
[I know you're bored. I know this is tedious. But you cannot, under any circumstances, start quoting Shakespeare or discussing thermodynamics. Act. Your. Age.]
[Current Vocabulary: 47 words (slightly advanced but not suspiciously so)]
[Approved phrases: "More please," "No thank you," "Where Chloe?" "Love you"]
[Forbidden phrases: Literally anything that would make your parents question your existence]
I was sitting in my high chair, pushing around pieces of cut-up fruit that Claire had prepared for my breakfast. Outside the kitchen window, I could see snow falling gently over Montreal. It was early 2000—I was a year and a half old, and the world was still recovering from Y2K panic that had, predictably, amounted to nothing.
In my previous life, I'd been twelve years old when the millennium turned. Now I was living through it again, except this time I was more concerned with mastering the pincer grip than I was about whether computers would stop working.
"Lance, mon chou, you need to eat," Claire said, sliding another piece of strawberry toward me. "You're getting so tall. Growing boys need fuel."
"No hungry," I said, which was a lie. I was actually starving, but I was also deeply focused on something the System had shown me earlier that morning.
[Skill Tree Unlocked: Basic Motor Control - Level 5]
[New Branch Available: Advanced Coordination Training]
[This will improve: Hand-eye coordination, spatial awareness, reaction time, fine motor control]
[Training Method: Disguised as normal toddler play]
[Estimated Timeline: 6-12 months to reach Level 10]
[Side Effects: You'll be really good at stacking blocks and probably annoying good at those shape-sorting toys]
I was fascinated by the idea that the System was gamifying my development. Every skill I learned, every milestone I reached, was tracked and quantified. It made sense from an efficiency standpoint, but it also felt slightly absurd to see "Successfully Used Spoon" pop up as an achievement.
Though I had to admit, using a spoon when your fine motor control was still developing was genuinely challenging.
"Mama," I said, pointing to the window. "Snow. Pretty."
Claire followed my gaze and smiled. "Yes, baby. Very pretty. Do you want to go play in it later?"
"Yes please!"
The "please" always got her. I'd figured out early that toddlers who used basic manners were praised excessively, which meant more freedom to do what I wanted. It was a simple manipulation, but effective.
[System Note: Using politeness to manipulate your parents. I'm so proud. You're learning.]
[Though technically, being polite isn't manipulation if you actually mean it. And I think you do mean it, which is character growth. Look at you, becoming a decent human being.]
Lawrence walked into the kitchen, already dressed in a suit despite it being barely seven in the morning. He was on the phone, speaking rapidly in French about fabric shipments and retail margins. He ruffled my hair as he passed, grabbing a coffee that Claire had prepared for him.
I watched him, studying the man who would eventually buy a Formula 1 team. In my previous life, I'd seen him as a cartoon villain, a rich daddy buying his son a seat in motorsport's highest echelon. Now I saw a man who worked constantly, who built an empire through strategic thinking and relentless drive, who loved his family but struggled to balance business and home life.
It was a lot more complicated than my Twitter takes had suggested.
"Papa!" I called out, wanting his attention.
He turned, phone still pressed to his ear, and gave me a warm smile. He held up one finger—one minute—and I nodded, understanding. Even at this age, I was learning the rhythm of his life. Business came first, but family was never forgotten. It was just... scheduled.
[Current Family Dynamic Assessment:]
[Mother: Primary caregiver, deeply invested in your development, slightly overprotective but loving]
[Father: Busy with business empire, present when possible, already thinking about your future]
[Sister: Your biggest fan, protective, teaching you things constantly, might be your best friend in this life]
[Overall Family Health: Strong. Wealthy but not disconnected. Privileged but not unaware.]
[You lucked out, honestly. Could've been reborn into a much worse situation.]
Chloe bounded into the kitchen, already dressed in her school uniform. She was seven now, growing into a confident, outgoing child who seemed to collect friends the way some people collected stamps.
"Morning, Lance!" she said brightly, kissing the top of my head. "Did you sleep good?"
"Good," I confirmed. "Chloe go school?"
"Yep. But I'll be back this afternoon, and then we can build that tower again, okay? We're going to make it so tall this time."
"Tall!" I agreed enthusiastically, because that's what toddlers did. They got excited about things like building blocks and whether today's snack would be crackers or apple slices.
Internally, I was planning how to use block-stacking as coordination training. The System had suggested that precise placement of objects was excellent for developing the fine motor control I'd eventually need for steering wheel adjustments and button pressing on an F1 car.
Everything was training. Everything was preparation.
Even playing with my sister.
[Age: 18 Months - Developmental Milestone Check]
[Walking: Mastered (you can run now, though you fall a lot)]
[Speaking: On track (slight acceleration approved)]
[Social Skills: Excellent (you're a surprisingly charming toddler)]
[Problem Solving: Advanced (but you're hiding it well)]
[Physical Coordination: Above average (thanks to our training)]
[Next Major Milestone: Complex Speech Development]
[Timeline: 21-24 months]
[Goal: Be able to express more complex thoughts without sounding like a tiny professor]
The next few months passed in a blur of development that I'd carefully calibrated to be impressive but not impossible. I learned new words every day, combining them into longer sentences that delighted Claire and made Lawrence pause his phone calls to listen.
"Mama, can I have more apple please?" became a full sentence that earned me enthusiastic praise.
"Chloe, let's build the tower very tall!" was apparently evidence of advanced language skills that had Claire considering whether I was gifted.
I wasn't gifted. I was a twenty-eight-year-old man pretending to be impressed by my own ability to form grammatically correct sentences. But I couldn't tell her that, so I just smiled and accepted the praise.
[Age: 2 Years Old - Major Update]
[Congratulations! You've survived toddlerhood without breaking character!]
[Physical Development: You can run, jump, climb, and generally terrify adults with your complete lack of self-preservation instincts (just like a normal toddler!)]
[Cognitive Development: Still far ahead, still successfully hiding it]
[Language Development: Vocabulary of approximately 300 words, can form complex sentences, beginning to understand abstract concepts]
[Social Development: You have friends at the playground. This is new for you. Enjoy it.]
[New Skill Unlocked: Basic Pattern Recognition]
[New Skill Unlocked: Spatial Reasoning Level 3]
[Special Skill Activating: Culinary Knowledge Integration - Phase 1]
I was in the kitchen with Claire when it happened. She was making lunch—simple sandwiches and soup—and I was sitting on the counter nearby, supposedly just watching. But I found myself noticing things.
The way she cut the vegetables wasn't efficient. The knife angle was wrong. The soup was boiling when it should be simmering. She was about to add salt before tasting, which was a fundamental error.
"Mama," I said, pointing. "Too hot. Soup too hot."
She looked at me, then at the pot, surprised. "You're right, baby. How did you know?"
I couldn't exactly explain that I somehow knew the optimal temperature for developing flavors in a vegetable soup. "Bubbles," I said instead, which was true if incomplete. "Big bubbles."
Claire turned down the heat, looking impressed. "You're very observant, mon chou."
[System Note: That's the culinary knowledge starting to integrate. Right now it's just instinct—you know things without knowing how you know them.]
[By age 3-4, it'll be full knowledge. You'll understand techniques, flavor profiles, cooking chemistry. You'll have Eishi Tsukasa's complete culinary expertise downloaded into your brain.]
[Yes, this is weird. Yes, you're going to be a toddler who knows how to prepare molecular gastronomy. No, you shouldn't demonstrate that ability.]
[Maybe stick to helping with simple tasks for now. Like stirring. Toddlers can stir without raising suspicions.]
Over the next few weeks, I found myself increasingly drawn to the kitchen. I'd watch Claire cook with intense focus, and she started letting me help with simple tasks. Washing vegetables. Stirring batter. Arranging ingredients.
She thought I was just interested in spending time with her. She had no idea I was cataloging techniques, understanding flavor combinations, and internally critiquing her knife skills.
"You really love cooking, don't you?" she said one afternoon, letting me help her make cookies. "Maybe you'll be a chef when you grow up."
"Race car driver," I said seriously, because even at two, I needed to start planting those seeds. "Fast cars."
Lawrence, who'd been working at the kitchen table, looked up with interest. "You like cars, Lance?"
"Yes! Fast. Zoom zoom!"
It was embarrassing to say "zoom zoom" when you used to have opinions about aerodynamic efficiency and downforce regulations, but it got the desired effect. Lawrence's face lit up with a smile that suggested he was already imagining taking his son to races.
[Parental Interest in Racing: Activated]
[Good job. You're only two and you're already directing your father's attention toward motorsport.]
[Next step: Actually show some coordination and interest when you're around vehicles.]
[Shouldn't be hard. You spent your previous life obsessing about F1. Now you just have to act like a toddler who likes cars.]
The opportunity came sooner than expected. Lawrence took the family to a car show in Montreal—some exhibition of luxury vehicles that was more about networking and business than actual automotive interest. But for me, it was perfect.
I toddled around, pointing at different cars, asking simple questions that Lawrence was delighted to answer. I could see him watching me, gauging my interest, probably thinking about his own father who'd taken him to car shows when he was young.
"Which one do you like best, Lance?" he asked, crouching down to my level.
I could have pointed to the Ferrari, the obvious choice for any racing enthusiast. I could have gone for the Porsche, showing sophisticated taste. Instead, I pointed to a bright red vintage racing car in the corner—a Formula 1 car from the 1970s, displayed as a piece of automotive history.
"That one," I said firmly. "Race car."
Lawrence followed my gaze, and something shifted in his expression. Not surprise, exactly. More like recognition. Like he was seeing a part of himself reflected in his two-year-old son.
"That's a racing car," he confirmed. "A Formula 1 car. The fastest cars in the world."
"Want to drive," I said, which was the most honest thing I'd said in months. "When big."
"When you're big," Lawrence agreed, his hand warm on my shoulder. "First you have to grow. Then maybe we'll see about some go-karts, okay?"
"Go-karts!" I repeated excitedly, jumping up and down because that's what toddlers did when they were happy.
Inside, I was screaming. This was it. This was the beginning. Lawrence Stroll had just committed, however casually, to the idea of his son racing go-karts. The seed was planted. The path was opening.
Everything I'd claimed I could do, given the opportunity, was about to be put to the test.
[Mission Update: Parental Support Secured]
[Your father is now thinking about racing. Your mother will be harder to convince—she'll worry about safety—but Lawrence is the primary obstacle and he's already on board.]
[Timeline to First Kart: Approximately 3-4 years]
[That gives you time to build the necessary skills, physical development, and mental preparation.]
[Don't waste it.]
That night, after I'd been put to bed, I lay in my toddler bed—recently graduated from the crib—and stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. Chloe had helped me put them up, turning it into an entire afternoon project complete with detailed explanations of constellations that I already knew but pretended to learn for the first time.
[Age 2: Year in Review]
[Major Accomplishments:]
Mastered complex speech without revealing adult consciousness Developed strong family bonds, especially with Chloe Planted seeds for future racing career with Lawrence Began integration of culinary knowledge Maintained cover as normal (if slightly advanced) toddler Built physical coordination foundation through "play"
[Challenges Overcome:]
Boredom of toddler life (ongoing) Resisting urge to demonstrate full capabilities Learning to appreciate privileges instead of resenting them Building genuine emotional connections
[Current Status: Ahead of Schedule]
[Age 2-3 Goals:]
Continue language development Increase physical coordination training Deepen culinary knowledge integration Strengthen relationship with Lawrence around cars/racing Prepare mentally for eventual karting introduction Learn to balance being a kid with preparing for the future
[Personal Assessment: You're doing better than expected. Maybe God knew what they were doing after all.]
I smiled in the darkness. Maybe God did know. Or maybe I was just so terrified of wasting this second chance that I was actually trying for once in my life.
Both lives, technically.
"Lance?" Chloe's voice came from my doorway, silhouetted by the hallway light. "You still awake?"
"Yeah," I whispered back.
She crept into my room and sat on the edge of my bed. "Can't sleep?"
"Thinking," I said, which was true.
"About the race car? Papa told me you liked it."
"Yeah. Fast cars."
Chloe was quiet for a moment, then she said, "If you want to drive race cars when you're bigger, I'll come watch all your races. I'll be your biggest fan."
Something caught in my throat. In my previous life, I'd never had anyone who promised to be my biggest fan. I'd never had someone who believed in me unconditionally, who offered support without being asked.
"Thanks, Chloe," I managed.
"That's what big sisters are for," she said seriously, like she was reciting something she'd learned from a manual on siblinghood. "We protect you and support you and teach you things and come to your races."
She kissed my forehead, just like she'd seen our mother do a thousand times, and left my room with a whispered "Goodnight."
[System Note: Your sister is going to be one of the most important people in your life.]
[In your previous life, you had no one. In this life, you have family who love you, who want to see you succeed, who will support your dreams.]
[Don't forget that when things get hard. And they will get hard.]
[Racing is brutal. Formula 1 is even more brutal. You're going to face criticism, pressure, setbacks, failures.]
[But you're also going to face them with people in your corner.]
[That makes all the difference.]
I pulled my blanket up and closed my eyes, letting sleep take me. Tomorrow I'd wake up and be a two-year-old again, playing with toys and learning shapes and acting appropriately young.
But tonight, just for a moment, I let myself think about the future. About karts and single-seaters and eventually, impossibly, Formula 1.
About proving every criticism I'd ever made wrong by living up to every claim I'd ever made right.
About becoming not just Lance Stroll, but the best version of Lance Stroll that could possibly exist.
[Sleep well, future racing driver.]
[Tomorrow we continue building your foundation.]
[One day at a time.]
[One skill at a time.]
[One step closer to the dream.]
The next morning...
I woke up to Chloe shaking me excitedly. "Lance! Lance, wake up! Papa says we're going to do something fun today!"
I rubbed my eyes, sitting up in bed. "What fun?"
"It's a surprise! But you have to get dressed. Come on!"
She helped me pick out clothes—a process that involved her rejecting my first three choices because the colors "didn't match" according to some seven-year-old fashion logic I didn't understand—and we headed downstairs.
Lawrence was waiting in the kitchen with Claire, both of them smiling in that way parents do when they're about to do something they think will make their children happy.
"Good morning, champion," Lawrence said, which was a new nickname that had appeared after the car show. "How would you like to go to a go-kart track today?"
My heart actually stopped for a second. "Go-karts? Today?"
"Just to watch," Claire interjected quickly, shooting Lawrence a look. "You're much too young to drive. But Papa thought you might like to see them."
"See the fast cars, learn how they work, maybe sit in one for a photo," Lawrence added. "What do you think?"
What did I think? I thought this was the universe accelerating my timeline. I thought this was an opportunity I couldn't waste. I thought I was about to see actual racing karts for the first time in this new life.
"YES!" I shouted, jumping up and down. "Yes yes yes!"
Chloe laughed at my enthusiasm, and even Claire smiled despite her obvious concerns about introducing her toddler to motorsport.
"Alright then," Lawrence said, clearly pleased with my reaction. "Let's go see some go-karts."
[System Note: Well. This escalated quickly.]
[I was planning to wait until you were at least three before introducing racing environments.]
[But I suppose when opportunity knocks, you answer.]
[Observation Mode: Activated]
[Analysis Protocols: Ready]
[Let's see how you handle your first exposure to racing in this life.]
[Try not to reveal that you already know more about racing lines and apexes than most adults.]
[You're two. Act like it.]
[But also... pay attention. Learn. Absorb. Prepare.]
[This is the beginning of everything.]
The drive to the karting track felt eternal, even though it was only about thirty minutes. I sat in my car seat, watching the world pass by the window, internally vibrating with excitement that I had to keep carefully controlled.
Toddlers got excited, yes. But they didn't understand the significance of this moment. They didn't grasp that this was the first step on a path that led to Formula 1.
I did.
When we finally pulled into the parking lot of the karting facility, I could hear the high-pitched whine of engines, the smell of racing fuel and burning rubber carrying on the wind. It hit me like a physical force—the sound, the smell, the atmosphere of competition.
In my previous life, I'd only experienced this through screens, through YouTube videos and race broadcasts. Now I was here, in person, and it was overwhelming in the best possible way.
Lawrence unbuckled me from my car seat and lifted me out, setting me on the ground. I immediately started walking toward the track, drawn by the sound of engines.
"Slow down, mon chou," Claire called, but she was laughing.
We walked into the facility, and I saw them. Racing karts, lined up in the pit area. Drivers in full racing suits, helmets tucked under their arms. Mechanics working on engines, adjusting settings, discussing strategies.
It was a local club racing event, nothing professional, but to me it might as well have been Monaco.
[Environmental Analysis: Complete]
[Track Type: Outdoor, approximately 1.2km, 14 turns, technical layout]
[Kart Specifications: 4-stroke rental karts for younger classes, 2-stroke racing karts for advanced classes]
[Driver Age Range: 8 years old to adult]
[Noise Level: Intense (protect your ears, small human)]
[Sensory Overload Risk: High]
[Excitement Level: Off the charts]
[Recommendation: Try to act normal. You're failing at this. You look like a tiny person who just found religion.]
A man in a staff uniform noticed us and walked over, recognizing Lawrence immediately. Money tends to make people recognizable.
"Mr. Stroll, welcome! We're honored to have you here. Is this your son?"
"This is Lance," Lawrence confirmed, his hand warm on my shoulder. "He's very interested in racing. I thought we'd come watch, let him see the karts up close."
"Of course, of course! How old is he? Two? Three?"
"Just turned two."
The man crouched down to my level. "Hi, Lance. Do you like fast cars?"
"Love fast cars," I said solemnly. "Very fast. Zoom."
He laughed. "Well, you've come to the right place. Want to see a real racing kart up close?"
Did I want to see a racing kart up close? Was that even a question?
"YES PLEASE!"
He led us into the pit area, and I tried to memorize everything. The way the mechanics used their tools. The sound of engines being tuned. The smell of fuel mixing with oil. The focused expressions on the drivers' faces as they prepared for their sessions.
And then we were standing next to an actual racing kart, and I couldn't help myself.
I reached out and touched it.
The chassis was cold under my small hand, powder-coated steel formed into an elegant frame designed for one purpose: speed. The steering wheel was small, wrapped in grip tape worn smooth by use. The seat was molded plastic, contoured for a driver's body. Everything was purposeful, efficient, stripped down to only what was necessary.
It was beautiful.
[System Note: You're crying.]
[You're literally crying while touching a go-kart.]
[This is either very sweet or very concerning, I haven't decided which.]
I was crying. I couldn't help it. Twenty-eight years in my previous life spent watching races on screens, arguing about strategies online, dreaming about what it would be like to actually compete, to actually be part of motorsport instead of just observing it.
And now here I was, two years old, touching a racing kart, knowing that this time I'd get my chance. This time I wouldn't just watch from the sidelines.
"Lance?" Claire sounded worried. "What's wrong, baby?"
I couldn't explain it, couldn't make them understand, so I just said the simplest truth I could express: "Pretty. Car pretty."
Lawrence and the staff member exchanged glances, and I saw something change in my father's expression. Understanding, maybe. Recognition of passion that transcended age and circumstance.
"Would you like to sit in it?" the man offered. "We can take a photo."
They lifted me into the seat, my legs not even close to reaching the pedals, my hands barely able to grip the steering wheel. I looked ridiculous, a toddler in a racing kart built for someone four times my age.
But I'd never felt more at home.
I held the steering wheel, and even though the kart wasn't moving, even though I was just posing for a photo, I felt it. The potential. The promise. The future.
Claire took several pictures with the camera she'd brought, probably thinking these would be cute memories of her toddler's passing interest in racing.
She had no idea she was documenting the origin story of a Formula 1 driver.
"What do you think, Lance?" Lawrence asked, watching me closely. "Do you like it?"
I looked at him, this man who would eventually move mountains to support his son's racing career, and I gave him the truth.
"Love it, Papa. Love it so much."
And in that moment, in that karting facility on a random Saturday in Montreal, with the sound of engines echoing across the track and the smell of racing fuel in the air, something fundamental was decided.
This wasn't just a second chance at life.
This was the beginning of a racing career.
This was everything I'd claimed I could do, given the opportunity, about to be put to the test.
And I couldn't wait.
[Mission Status: Racing Career Path - Officially Initiated]
[Age: 2 Years, 2 Months]
[Current Location: Local Karting Facility, Montreal]
[Significant Event: First Contact with Racing Environment]
[Parental Investment Level: Increasing]
[Your Father's Thoughts: "Maybe... maybe he really does love this."]
[Your Mother's Thoughts: "He's too young to be thinking about racing... right?"]
[Your Thoughts: "I'm going to drive that kart someday. I'm going to race. I'm going to win."]
[Reality Check: You're still two. You can barely reach the pedals. You have approximately three to four years before you can actually drive.]
[But the seed is planted.]
[The journey has begun.]
[Welcome to your racing career, Lance Stroll.]
[Try not to crash too much.]
To be continued...
Author's Note: Chapter 3 covers ages 18 months to 2 years old, establishing Lance's language development, early culinary abilities, and most importantly, his first exposure to racing. The slow build continues—next chapter will likely cover ages 2.5-4, where his personality fully emerges, his training becomes more serious, and the cooking abilities fully manifest. We're laying careful groundwork for the 400+ chapters ahead.