12-27-11

 

Last week, I got the news that my car, my Volvo, for all intents and purposes, will be no more.  There is a myth that guys have a very strong attachment to cars. For all you ladies out there, I am here to say that this myth is completely confirmed. When I got the news, I quickly just said everything was okay, and tried to suppress my feelings. Today, my feelings couldn't be suppressed any longer, so here we are. Before I continue with this rather unusual blog post, I would like to say to the party that was involved that just because I am sad about it right now, it doesn't change the fact that I don't hold any hard feelings toward him or her, and that he or she is completely forgiven. 

Nevertheless, I still feel feelings of loss of what was my very first car, and what was my traveling companion for the last 3 years of my life. From Palm Desert for the summers to musical performances to the beach to school to sporting events to anywhere we could; we went everywhere together. We looked good together, and we enjoyed each others company. Earlier this evening, I called my dad, and we talked about my feelings of loss for my car, and he told me that those feelings are completely normal. I found out in my senior year of high school that my personality type likes closure. Unfortunately, right now I am in Italy and I won't get a chance to say goodbye, making closure more elusive. Nevertheless, I will do my best to try.

What is a car? A car is a motor bolted to a frame with a body bolted onto that. Inside the body there are seats, a steering wheel, some buttons and knobs, some pedals, some instruments, usually a radio, and possibly a gps device. Attached to the motor are shafts which have hubs at the ends which have rims bolted on, which have tires attached. Inside the motor, there are little pistons that explode very quickly to drive the drive shaft. All of these elements are combined to create something that is used to get you where you want to go. 

However, a car is so much more than a bunch of moving parts bolted together to help it move forwards or backwards. A car is a symbol of freedom. A car is what makes the difference between stuck at home and out to the beach for the day with friends. A first car, especially for a guy like me, shows a guy what freedom tastes like for the first time, becomes his partner in crime, his right arm,  his faithful companion that will go anywhere with him and keep him safe along the way, an extension of his soul, a keeper of secrets, a sharer of the desire to be a race car driver someday, and his ticket to anywhere-you-want-ville, all in one. 

When I had my knee surgery last summer, I couldn't drive at all. Everyday I would hobble on my crutches into the garage, and my car would be sitting there staring at me. It seemed to say with excitement, "What new and exciting place are we going to discover today Steven? ", and everyday I had to reply with great disappointment, "Nowhere. Not today". I can't tell you how depressing my knee surgery was because every day my car would just beckon to me for an open road adventure, and I had to say no. I was like a prisoner in my own house. I remember my first time driving her again when I got off my crutches. I backed out of the driveway carefully, and the second I put it in drive, I punched the gas and didn't let up until we got to our destination. One thing I will say about this car, it had spirit, and always had speed to spare. With lots of get-up-and-go, it was a very zoomy little car. In the car Olympics, it would definitely be a sprinter.

I can't count all of the good times I've had in my car. I can't count all of the places Diana and I went in high school, all of the deep conversations I have had with many various people over these last few years, all of the days I had on highway 10 going to camp with the radio blasting, the sun roof open, and the open road ahead, all of the adventures, and all of the experiences. This car will always be in my heart; it will always be a part of my story. It was the one thing I always counted on remaining unchanged when I got home for vacations. The furniture would be rearranged, there would be junk in my room that wasn't there when I left, my plants would be overgrown or sometimes dead, and the people changed; but the one thing that never changed was my Volvo parked in the garage eager for action.

This time, when I come home from Spain in June, my Volvo won't be in the garage waiting for me; ready for a new adventure. The garage will be vacant, and I will be car-less for a while. I am supposed to be taking O Chem at La Sierra this summer, and I am still trying to figure out how I am going to get there each day, but one worry at a time. 

I feel like I have lost my right arm, and my very close companion. I will be sad for a while longer and then I will move on. This has taught me that in this life, nothing is certain, and nothing lasts forever. Stuff happens. Stuff we weren't expecting, stuff we were expecting, stuff that hits us like a train, stuff that seems to crush us, stuff that seems unfair. When stuff happens, the only thing we can do is just make the best of it, and try to move on. I will eventually have to get a new car, granted, but no car will ever take the place of this one in my heart; my first taste of freedom, my partner in crime, my ticket to anywhere-you-want-to-go-ville just for the fun of it.