It’s interesting how a car can symbolize an era in our lives. This is definitely true of my hunter-green Mazda Miata, which I passed along to a new owner this past Saturday.
The car represented a brief yet expansive period of my life: newly married, driving my hot wheels to increasingly professional and well-compensated work, working in the field I’d trained for (I studied arts education at Harvard), and scooting off to wherever I needed to go whenever I wanted.
But now I’m a stay-at-home Mamma and the Miata is definitely not the appropriate car. To save money Ben and I have decided to share his car, which means most of the time I ain’t got no wheels at all! The good part is that where I used to be stuck with an ugly freeway commute, I now have the luxury of walking everywhere, and we live in a beautiful area. It’s hard to put a price tag on the value of strolling down a sunny sidewalk on my way to Peet’s coffee at 11am. But still, I’m going to miss that convertible. Sigh.
The car has great vibes. It was an indescribable gift to me from one of my very best friends. Yes, a gift (who gives someone a sporty convertible?). Colleen drove it for years and when it came time for her to buy a new car, she decided to give me her Miata. That convertible was a continuous reminder of the goodness of God expressed through the generosity of a best friend.
When I first met Caitlin (26, gutsy, smart, beautiful and without a car), well, I just had this hunch. She’s gonna be the one. When the time comes, I want to give my car to her.
So here goes. Farewell to the miracle car – one that I didn’t earn and cannot sell – and farewell to my late twenties (I know, it’s been three years already, but symbolically…). Farewell to my life without kids.