Blaze

So I'm in the middle of some Auto Driven Angst. Deep in its treacherous jaws, in fact. It will come as a surprise to only a few of you (the rest knowing well my attachment to my car) that I've had the same car for, like, ever. Since 1993. I can't even count back that far, my degree in stupid math only taking me as far as eleventeen. It's the longest relationship I've ever had in my life, and many of my friends who see me after years apart will first say "So great to see you, you stunning thing, you!" followed by "You're STILL driving THAT?" Yes, I am. Suck on it.

It's been a good car. It's a CUTE car. It somehow looks like me. I love vintage things, things that have some sort of history, some sort of personality, and this car has soul to spare. She's seen me through graduations, through break-ups, through job successes and losses. I've spent nights pounding the steering wheel in frustration while driving around, trying to figure out my life. The back seat has seem some action - ahem - as has the front. It's a sporty ride, has stupendous rear vision, and a trunk that could easily fit a body...though I've never tried. Really. The list of Things That Drive Other People Crazy is long and vast, but I'm willing to forgive faulty electrics, a malfunctioning AC and a loud steering shaft and chalk it up to things that just make my car unique, if not blisteringly hot in the summer time. Whatever. Open your window.

But I'm now on the cusp of being willing to upgrade to a car that has a few more amenities. Namely, automatic locks, a radio that works and power steering. And airbags. I rented a car this last weekend while I was down in SoCal and was driving my friends around going "OOOOO - look at the knobs! Check out how loud I can make the stereo go! Look! I can just push this button and ALL OF THE DOORS UNLOCK!" And they looked at me quizzically, my friend Andrea finally saying, "You know, Jen, those are standard features these days." But the thought of getting rid of Blaze (yes, that's her name) makes me feel like someone is shoving broken glass into my heart. I know that seems somewhat dramatic given that she is an inanimate being, something that no amount of anthropomorphizing will bring to life, but I think it's what she represents that is hard to give up.

I bought my car from my dad. I paid my father off within a year, proudly showing up each month with my car payment, giving him a check for the remaining balance a year early so that I wouldn't have to be beholden to him. It was my first adult purchase, and tangible evidence that I could take care of myself. So when I look at my car, it's not just a mode of transportation, it's also a material reminder that somewhere along the way, I became grown up. And when I still don't feel that way, when I feel like I've failed in some catastrophic manner, I can get into my car, drive around with the three windows down that work and reconnect with the part of me that knows how to be an adult.

I'm sure there are some of you who are rolling their eyes thinking, "Jesus, it's a CAR." But I'll bet if you think about it, there is something in your life that you hold on to quite tightly, if only because it reminds you of a part of yourself that is easily lost in the chaotic quagmire that life can sometimes be. I have a friend who owns a suit that ceased to fit her long ago but got her a few kick ass jobs when she was in her 20's - for her it represents a time in her life that wherein her ambition was allowed to run free as it's now been housed by motherhood. Another of my friends will never let go of an old boyfriends gross sweatshirt because that time in her life taught her how to let go in love, and though the boy is long gone, the lessons have served her well throughout the years. And so, while my car might not be something I can stash away in a closet, it's dear to me, and I'm allowed to be emotional about the thought of letting it go.

I'm not quite there yet, but sometime this year, Blaze will be given a proper burial. Or at least I will hand her off to someone who has the time and money to put into her what she needs to keep running for many more years. And I know, each time I see a little red BMW floating down the freeway, my heart will weep a wee bit. But I suppose that's part of being an adult too, not letting material things define you. Though let it be known, I think it's much easier to build character when you have such a cute little car to zip around in. Sigh.