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On the Road Again
Dec. 3rd, 2014 04:42 pmI felt a little sick getting on the train to Braintree yesterday. After ten months of waiting, some staggering large fees, and a last minute connection with Commerce Insurance, the time had finally arrived to pick up my new car. The original died a tragic, stupid death, and Nate told me only five of those cars existed in New England. I asked him to keep his eyes open while I sorted out other matters. One of those five cards showed up at the dealership, but I wasn’t able to pick it up. Then as I checked the Subaru website in November, another one showed up. Some hasty arrangements secured the car, and now I was going to get it.
My brain (never my best friend) was filled with questions: What if you forgot how to drive? Where if there is a problem at the dealership? What if you are too worried about being too worried to drive? (rumor has it that I over think things). Somewhere between getting picked up at Braintree and arriving in Hanover, the queasiness and worry started mixing with eagerness.
I got out of the car and saw it: the exact same car I used to own, same make, model, color, year, even the same extras. It stunned me a bit, the parking lot felt slightly less than real. The test drive proved that I remembered how to drive and didn’t get a panic attack. After that it was a matter of paper work, sitting, and questions (Did you know you can get a vortex generator for your car? It is nowhere near cool enough to deserve that name).
The dealer put the plates on the car, and it struck me how incredibly rare this was, one of those consciousness shifting jolts you feel down to the pit of your stomach. I could have died in that crash. My car was gone, and yet here it was again, as if I never left it. The sheer amount of luck, of probabilities lining up to put me and this car back into contact staggered me. Accompanying that was a deep sense of responsibility: it’s a miracle to be back in this vehicle, my son. Don’t blow it. There was one more feeling under that, which rose up in me as I drove home in the dark, country music on the radio (I felt like something different), sitting in the traffic and light snowfall. That feeling was gratitude. Thanking the universe for my second chance. Thanking myself for getting through all the hurdles and harsh life lessons to get to point. Thankful for my friends for their support.
My brain (never my best friend) was filled with questions: What if you forgot how to drive? Where if there is a problem at the dealership? What if you are too worried about being too worried to drive? (rumor has it that I over think things). Somewhere between getting picked up at Braintree and arriving in Hanover, the queasiness and worry started mixing with eagerness.
I got out of the car and saw it: the exact same car I used to own, same make, model, color, year, even the same extras. It stunned me a bit, the parking lot felt slightly less than real. The test drive proved that I remembered how to drive and didn’t get a panic attack. After that it was a matter of paper work, sitting, and questions (Did you know you can get a vortex generator for your car? It is nowhere near cool enough to deserve that name).
The dealer put the plates on the car, and it struck me how incredibly rare this was, one of those consciousness shifting jolts you feel down to the pit of your stomach. I could have died in that crash. My car was gone, and yet here it was again, as if I never left it. The sheer amount of luck, of probabilities lining up to put me and this car back into contact staggered me. Accompanying that was a deep sense of responsibility: it’s a miracle to be back in this vehicle, my son. Don’t blow it. There was one more feeling under that, which rose up in me as I drove home in the dark, country music on the radio (I felt like something different), sitting in the traffic and light snowfall. That feeling was gratitude. Thanking the universe for my second chance. Thanking myself for getting through all the hurdles and harsh life lessons to get to point. Thankful for my friends for their support.
