Shifting Gears

 When I wrote about my cars two weeks ago, I thought that post would be the end of it. I'd pour my feelings out onto the page, contemplate the right name for my new vehicle (the only one I've ever actually considered naming), and move on to other posts. 

But a funny thing happened last week, a moment in time that opened the door to a deeper understanding of the emotions behind this whole process. I was running some errands, dropping things off here and there. I’d parked my car out in front of my friend's house and, as I was heading up the driveway to get back in and drive home, I saw the new car and thought, "That's my car."

That's my car?

Pretty and shiny, not yet hard-driven or well-loved.

But mine. The realization made me smile, and it made me think. 

Driving my Scion past its prime and getting every penny out of the car payments I'd made on my first-ever new car had been a point of pride. It was a choice that said I wasn't the kind of person who needed to have a new car every five years. I was practical, not frivolous; conservative, not wasteful. And, more important, driving my beloved Scion for as long as possible was a thing I could do to make another thing -- a much less logical thing -- happen. 

I could retire from my school counseling job. Although I didn't realize it until just last week, my Scion, like my Celica, was a declaration of independence car.

Apparently I have a pattern. 

I knew that the Scion had seen me through a lot. That I'd driven it throughout most of my daughter's life. That it had been my first ever new car. But it was only when I realized that I'd driven it through the transition from my old life to my new one -- much like my Celica -- and kept driving it after that that I began to understand why I'd been so emotional about giving it up.

Though retiring from my job in public education was bittersweet, it was the right thing to do on so many levels. But the decision was decidedly not practical. It brought emotional freedom, but carried a financial cost, one I was determined would not impact my family negatively in any significant way. I scaled back a lot of wishes, dreams, and purchases but that was my thing, not theirs. I was determined that getting the thing I wanted wouldn't come at a cost to anyone but me.

Let me be clear. This was not martyrdom. It was full out Jersey girl determination. My car was not only security (No car payment! One less thing to worry about!) but, quite literally, the vehicle that got me from my first career to my interim year to my second career.

And I loved driving it from the moment I test drove it to the moment I traded it in.

Which explains a lot about the roller coaster of emotions I've been on for the past few weeks -- about a car, for heaven's sake! I wasn't just trading in a thing. I was trading in something that had gotten me from one point in my life to another, both literally and figuratively. 

I've had my new car for a few weeks now and I think maybe I've stopped believing I don't deserve it. I'm loving all the bells and whistles -- the ones I convinced myself I didn't need. I probably don't need them, but they're nice to have. One great thing about having the same car for seventeen years is that even the base model of a new vehicle feels luxurious.

Last week, I was listening to an audiobook in my new car when the author shared the thought at the top of this post, which was perfectly timed. I was, indeed, losing the luster of what I'm fortunate enough to have by focusing on a car that had been sent off on another journey.

It makes me sad to think about someone else driving my Scion, but the author was right. It's time to shift my thinking. Maybe, just maybe, my Scion will be someone else's declaration of independence car. Maybe, after all she saw me through, it was time to pass her along to someone who needs her more than I do.

I have no doubt she's up to the task.