After Laura’s baby shower at the church this afternoon…
We spent the day washing and detailing my Lucky bug… To prepare it to sell soon.
I know, I know. I’m going through a kind of life exfoliation here lately, right? Change is hard for me, but lately I feel like God is putting all kinds of brave plans in my heart that never existed before that are making me feel empowered by change. And it feels so good! This car has seemed like such a part of my identity since we bought it in 2010, like an extension of me. But the older I get, the more I realize it’s not all that comfortable and it’s definitely not practical when we need to begin to at least think about thinking about someday babies, and I’ve been crushing pretty hard on late 1980s Jeep Grand Wagoneers. The best thing about being an adult is deciding what’s sensible and what’s not for your own life. For me, driving classic cars makes me feel alive. They give me a lot of joy. And I don’t plan on giving that up. They make sense for us, as our commute consists of one block usually, often taken on foot, and it’s so affordable in comparison to having a monthly car note. I think I’ve satisfied my VW obsession for the time being so now I’m excited to go on the hunt for the perfect old Woody to knock around town in.
In a couple years, we’re going to focus on restoring my 2000 VW, the car I drove in college when Ben and I met that will forever be my most special and sentimental vehicle. For now, we’re going to be keeping it in storage. Peeling paint and all.
I do so love old cars, y’all. Rick Bragg said it best:
“Cars will always carry us back through the years, on the back roads of our memory. The Pontiac, ragged, dented, rust-flecked, means it was ’74, since cars are the way working-class people of the Deep South truly mark time. Listen to them, when they are groping for a memory, and they will find it beside a yellow Oldsmobile, or baby-blue Malibu…”
—From The Prince of Frogtown