Two weeks ago, I traded in the Miata for a far more practical, roomy Venza. I can now tote both my guitar and a passenger… I can handle more than a single passenger… it’s quiet inside (convertibles are not very quiet)… I can use my iPod in the car. And yet, despite all these good things, and the fact that nobody leaned on me to do it, the day after, I cried.
Breaking up is hard to do. Especially breaking up with a piece of yourself. My inner anguish gave me the chance to ponder: just what was I leaving behind? Why did it hurt? Just what was the problem with trading cars?
I enjoyed the relationship with my little red sports car. A Miata is not a ride that has “MOM” emblazoned down the sides. It lets you feel the road in a good way. It offers a sense of being in touch and controlling the trip. It speaks of a certain Joie de vivre! and freedom from reasonableness that I really need to be in touch with on a regular basis. So much of who I think I am is tied up in what I think others want and expect of me — I’m a wife, a mother and a grandmother, a church musician, a person who held essentially the same job for more than 25 years. My Miata let me break away from some of those expectations.
This is good to know about myself. After 2 weeks, and a day trip to Birmingham in the new ride, I’m really comfortable and pleased with it. It still feels over-large, true. But, now that I’ve had a chance to reflect on why it was so hard to move from the old to the new, I think perhaps I can keep some of myself that I found in the Miata and move on to something new without folding and feeling like I gave in to convention.
And, I no longer have a close up view of the lug nuts on an 18-wheeler as I make my daily rounds.