I have to come clean: selling my car was a more emotional event than I thought it would be.
My car was a 2005 Nissan Altima I affectionately referred to as a ‘she’. While she was technically a car, I still referred to her as if she was an active member of any conversation. (I did it again just then, whoops.)
The car belonged to my parents first, which they bought as a brand-new model when I was 12. As I grew up, this car was the one I began learning how to drive with. And learn how to drive in this car I did. I put numerous marks and scratches in the car, realizing the hard way the discrepancy between how much I can see versus how much space there actually is around the car.
But all of this considered, I couldn’t imagine starting to drive in a different car. She was comfortable, warm, friendly, and always reliable. She was there for all my driving milestones. Driving examiners don’t prefer old Honda Civics, like my first car, with issues like malfunctioning windows or car locks, so I would have to borrow my parent’s old faithful car to pass my N and Class 5 driving tests.
Eventually, she became my car. As I headed off to school for journalism, my parents handed her down to me as a rite of passage so the car helped me get from point A to point B while I was studying. I mean, they didn’t just give me the car for no reason; they bought a new car, but wanted to keep her in the family. But it still felt a huge step in life: to own my first adult car. A car that I could reliably drive wherever I needed to go, and not fret about it breaking down on the highway. It was symbolic for me, and my freedom.
She’s not a bad looking car, but she is a mom car. It had soft, comfortable rounded edges and a spoiler for some pizzazz – not very sporty or dangerous looking. This car was built for the demands of 2004, and only offered CDs or radio as my two audio entertainment options. I can’t imagine how much time and money I wasted burning CDs to play while I drive, with the energy of a lovelorn teenager trying desperately to look cool while I use a mix-tape to invite my crush to the dance.
After years of burning CDs upon CDs, something inside me snapped and I decided enough was enough. I had listened to the same songs, in the same order ad nauseam, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I called an electronics shop and got them to install a deck with an aux cable, so I could play music from my phone.
The employee asked if I wanted the Bluetooth system, and I said no.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to plug in your phone,” he continued. “It’s pretty handy, lots of people like it!”
“Nah,” I countered. I kept thinking, ‘I just want to listen to Little Mix in my car, dude.’
I’ve never been a bonafide car person. I don’t get car shows, I hardly know the differences between cars, and when people tell me about how the – I don’t know, furbulator – in their car runs at 50 times the efficiency of any other car, I smile and nod but I haven’t got a single clue what they’re talking about. All I ever wanted in a car was for it to start up each morning, keep running until I got to my destination, and repeat this over and over again without making any weird, unsettling sounds. She delivered on all of that, and that’s what made me feel so at ease while I drove around.
But deep down I knew that someday she wouldn’t deliver on that anymore, and I’d be left literally stranded with a broken down car far beyond repair – and that day was only creeping closer, rather than further away. No number of oil changes, tune-ups and general maintenance appointments would keep it from approaching. Not with a car of this age. I don’t have much car savvy, but I do know that.
Once I realized that, I decided now was the time to give my car a new home; to someone who could still get the value I got out of this car.
I was reminded selling this car of just how many good – and bad – times we’ve had together. All the road trips and the aimless nighttime drives while listening to loud music with my friends, to the stressful meltdowns, the accidents, and the paperwork.
This car got me through so many stages of my life, from graduating school to moving 12 hours away for my first job, and then moving back to try and figure things out again. It saw the end of relationships and the beginnings of new ones, and it saw me push through long commuting hours at ill-fated jobs to grasp the start of rewarding career changes. During a time in my life when things seemed turbulent and ever changing, this car was one thing I could count on; a security blanket.
Vehicles sneak their way into our hearts and parting ways with them feels nearly impossible – until you’re forced to. There are many arguments for and against driving with all the transportation options available to us, but none of the other ones out there feel quite as personal as a car.