Recently, I have undergone the all too well-known life change of buying a new car. More specifically, I traded in my old, barely-working Buick named Silver that was only two years younger than I am for a Honda Civic that—get this, actually works.
For starters, I have always been a sentimental person. I’m talking so sentimental that I have cried during nearly every Disney Short created. So, I expected to feel at least something for the car that has gotten me to and from work for the past year.
This is the car that was there for me when I totaled my first car. It was the car that I used for my entire sophomore year of college, and it (almost) never failed me. Except of course, when it would trick me into thinking it wasn’t going to start in strange parking garages at night.
But, as I drove away from the hunk of silver metal that was my vehicle, I felt nothing for it. Instead, I got excited about all the new opportunities that I would have in my new car.
I felt wonderful knowing that I wouldn’t have to worry about my car overheating if I drove it too far, or simply just not starting one day when I need it to.
While many may think that it’s dramatic (I will admit that “dramatic” has been a word used to describe me more than once), getting rid of that car felt like I had actually been carrying it on my back all year before finally tossing it in the grass.
The more distance I put between me and Silver, the better I felt.