The Midlife

Last Sunday as I headed out to work, my car would not accelerate at a reasonable pace. I had to press down to the car floor to reach 45 miles an hour. The situation had me spooked, because I was with my daughter, and it had me fearful for the life of my 10 year old car.

A quick visit from AAA confirmed my greatest suspicions: There was nothing wrong with my car. Battery was fine. Alternator looked OK. I could use an oil change and a serpertine belt, according to my knowledgeable AAA helper. “I would hold on to your car with the way inflation is right now,” he said. No problem, I thought.

My 2012 Kia Soul, with its distinctive lime green color, has been good to me over the years. It’s taken me to and fro and to again thousands of times. But is it weird to say it’s a bit of an emotional support vehicle? I’ll explain for some context.

Nearly 10 years ago, my green girlie transported me and my new husband on our honeymoon to Florida. Twenty-plus hours in a car teaches you much about how another human manages life; to be road tripping in a car with less edge and personality could have been grounds for divorce at the offset. Not the case for us; not by a long shot.

Nearly 8 years ago, I remember packing my baby bag and leaving it in my car’s trunk when I had two weeks before my daughter’s early arrival. I remember installing her car seat, not only for her arrival, but for our road trips to Williamsburg, Georgia, Pigeon Forge and North Carolina, too. Happy memories mark the miles.

I’ve transported friends, colleagues, students, pets, groceries, books, old clothes. I’ve joyridden and driven too slow. I’ve blasted boy band music on my CD player with not a care in the world. I’ve driven through epic snow storms and extreme heat — all while looking like a badass bae. My key fob is so worn that the lock and alarm buttons popped off just mere months ago. I have to lock the car manually, with nary a spare key. I know, reckless amirite?

I decided to bite the bullet one more time and take my car in for what I deem her final set of repairs. Much like when you know an old dog is headed to a meet-up at the Rainbow Bridge, I know there comes a point when letting go of an old car is the right thing. Although the great memories made overshadow its monetary value, there’s a feeling of loss just the same. At least for me. Do you feel the same way, dear reader, about your cars? Are they gendered? My car has always felt like a girl, although she has no name.

Drop me a line and let me know about your car love. Leave a comment here and please consider sharing my content with another cool weirdo. Would love to grow a community. Also, please feel free to share your car recommendations. You know, for when the time is right for me to let go and drive away with more peace of mind behind the wheel. Thanks! Hope you all have a great week ahead.