I just sold my car. It was remarkably easy to do. My lovely new neighbors wanted to buy the vehicle because it was cheap, gets good gas mileage, and I have all its maintenance records. And yet, because this was my mom’s car, something tugs at my heart strings. I am giving up yet another piece of her.
Now the irony is, I will see my old car daily because it will still be parked in its usual spot. The neighbors live just one house over, so the car is not relocating.
How did I grow so attached to a beat up, micro size Hyundai? And why does trading up for a used Mercedes in mint condition make me both happy and sad? For one thing, I have loved having a car that I haven’t had to worry much about. If the Hyundai was filthy, I never cared. If the paint was chipping (which it was), I never lost any sleep over it. Now I will be washing and waxing and caring for a piece of metal, which is pretty out of character for me.
Yes, it was time to be in a more safe, sturdy car and I was eventually going to have to buy another used car anyway. At some point, the twelve year old Hyundai was going to need more repairs than the vehicle’s net value. It was smarter to sell while I could still get money for it. And the other car was a bargain that wasn’t going to come around again. However, here is one more memory of mom that will fade.
My mom would love my new car. She would find me a fool to cling to hers’. Yet when I think of the little white Hyundai, I think of her.
And so, I let go of the little white car. But as my father used to say, “If you really love something, let it go, and if it really loves you, it will return.”
And I realize, my mom has more than come back to me. She is following me as I journey; helping me as I log more miles.