Rewriting My Hard Drive
In another episode of “Rewriting My Hard Drive,” unexpected emotions floated to the surface and bubbled over the rims of my eyes when I said good-bye to my Volvo, my faithful companion for the last nine years. I hang on to cars for a long time, nine years each for my Honda and Saab too. We develop quite a history together, especially being a long-distance commuter as I was until last year when moving to Colorado Springs. Ironically, it was when I stopped driving my car so hard that it started to fail. Still, I drove her to her trade-in with the odometer still spinning at 206,700 miles, and she’s in much too good condition to end up in a scrap heap somewhere. Am I feeling guilty or empathetic for trading her in because I myself was once unceremoniously traded in? That’s what it felt like, a betrayal, one for which I was responsible and that doesn’t quite jive with my loyal sensibilities.
It’s difficult saying good-bye to a trusted “friend.” We rely on these complex machines to unfailingly transport us through our lives, whenever we need to be somewhere. It doesn’t really enter our realm of consciousness to consider “I hope we make it” because our autos, come extreme heat or extreme cold, deliver us time and time again. But for me the extra sadness bubbled up because saying good-bye was closing yet another door. As I signed over the title, I had flashbacks of my now departed sweet, sweet dogs, Kira and Luna, who were my traveling companions back in the wagon. This pushes them, too, a little further back in the recesses of my memory. I’ve said good-bye to a marriage, to a house and neighborhood that I loved, neighbors I adored, a job, and colleagues I treasured—and then a mother—and now a vehicle I really loved to drive. With a nimble six-speed stick shift and a turbo-charged 210-horse engine, I occasionally got in trouble for having a little too much zip. Undoubtedly, there will be advantages to no longer owning a fast red car, and just like everything else, I have to think about the associated positives.
As in all transitions, when one door closes, another one opens. My new car is loaded with techie features, 19-inch tires, heated seats, dual climate control (because I am hopeful), and a moon roof for spotting shooting stars. I’m not the kind to let sadness linger over my life. As lots of doors have closed, just as many have opened. Unexpected doors with bright, bright lights beyond them inviting me in: new city, new job, new friends, “new” love, incredible love.
I’m ready for another hello. Ready to make new memories and take new journeys. Rewriting my hard drive, one segment at a time.
Out with the old…
In with the new…
