I spent the week getting distracted from work by the process of finding myself a new car. Decision-making is a stress-inducing thing for me. Me in a toothpaste or detergent aisle? Panic. I do better with fewer choices, mainly. Fewer colors. Fewer models. Fewer formulas. When I do decide on something, I second guess until the cows come home. And then I ask their opinion (the cows’ opinions, figuratively) and second guess some more. And change my mind. And change it back again.
I think I drive everyone around me nuts with this. Which one is best? Am I going to regret my decision? What if something better comes along? Seriously, it’s never-ending.
The van, aptly named the silver cannonball, came to me as a hand-me-down from my brother who bought it in 2005 because he had to drive around with pounds and pounds of fabric samples, and for salespeople and families you kinda can’t beat a van. She was in great shape, four years old and well cared for when I drove her halfway across the country to bring her home. She carted me and the kids and bikes and extra people all over town and all over the state; made trips to Myrtle Beach and to Chicago and, when my son graduated from high school I let him and his friends drive her to Yellowstone. She was reliable and roomy and didn’t need much. Until she sort of hit her twilight years.
Maybe I could have taken better care of her, kept her a little cleaner, been better about the routine maintenance. She wasn’t neglected, but, you know, there was life and all that. She moved kids out. And then it was pretty much just me, alone, in this big old van. Electrical failures, broken locks, a broken mirror, little things going, big things starting to slip, nearly 200,000 miles. She’s done, tired. I’m done with her. Ready to move on.
I decided that a few months ago. I was clear about it. But then, the panic. What to choose in her stead. And, oh god, a car payment?!? Car payments are commitment. And, money. The panic froze me and I decided I’d wait for a while. And then I drove across the state and something went wrong; she had trouble accelerating and there was a shimmy that went on for miles. It might have been the roadway that caused the shimmy, but it was definitely happening. And I realized I didn’t want to be stranded on the side of the road, in the freezing cold, with no snow boots or gloves because I never listen to Jim when he tells me to keep those things in my car, and no cell service because I’m on a backroad in the wilderness looking for something interesting to photograph.
I didn’t want to freeze to death on a remote backroad in the silver cannonball.
(Okay, that’s unlikely and I’m exaggerating. I digress.)
But last week all the little broken things just really got to me, so I started looking and working on the process of deciding. I drove three cars this week and picked one, but went back and forth (in my head, with the dealer, it’s too much, am I getting ripped off, would they offer me a better price if I was a guy, etc. etc. ad nauseam) and talked the whole situation to death with anyone around me who would listen. All the moving parts, all the balls in the air, all the distractions, came to a halt today and tomorrow I’ll hand over the silver cannonball and drive my new wheels home. A young(ish) 2013, low(ish) miles, a stick shift, compact SUV. Just what I want. A new driving chapter.
So it’s my last night with the silver cannonball. I took her to the grocery store, an average evening thing to do, and in walking around making choices about bread and veggie burgers and yogurt I suddenly got a little sniffly over her. More than a little sniffly. Not sobbing in the frozen food aisle but inexplicably and surprisingly moody, sad, and for real a little wet in the eyes and snotty in the nose.
Hell. I can’t explain myself. My brother and I sobbed over cars when we were little: a turquoise Corvair, the brown Pontiac station wagon. Maybe some others, but those two particularly. Maybe I’m more sentimental about cars than I want to admit.
I loved the silver cannonball, I hated her, I respected her, I tolerated her, and now I’m replacing her. I’ll miss her a little bit. She took good care of me of me and mine.