Alright so, as if it wasn’t bad enough that I only seem to be posting once a week in recent months, I’m going to use a post today to brag about something I’ve purchased. I know, I know, that’s not very Buddhist-like but what can I say; I am a product of my Western environment. Maybe there’s more work to be done in that area and may be this is the wake-up call I need in order to do it. For today, I’m simply going to enjoy the ride (you’ll see why that’s funny in a minute).
All the way back in 1995, I saved up all my money as well as some inheritance I had gotten from family, and purchased my first vehicle. My choices were few and far between, considering the amount of cash I had available, and I was adamant on purchasing that vehicle on my own. It didn’t prevent the fact that as a minor, my parents would still need to register the vehicle in their name. But the honour of paying for the vehicle itself was still mine and mine alone.
My parents were totally on board with me purchasing a vehicle for myself. Besides the fact that I had reached an age where I would be able to drive myself to school and start looking for more work, it also allowed for me to run errands for my parents when needed, which freed them up for their own work, as well. All Lin all, it would serve the entire family, which made it a smart choice and a good resource for the entire family. Still with me? Good. Moving on.
After a few weeks of searching, I finally found a used vehicle I could afford with my humble savings. And that vehicle was a 1983 Toyota Tercel hatchback. This bad boy was red, two-door and had an after-market tape deck with an amplifier and after-market speakers installed in the hatchback. They had turned the tires outwards so that the white stripe was showing, giving the car a sharp, racing look. It was also a piece of shit. There were rust stains, the seal around the windshield was curling up and the upholstery smelled like the previous owner must have owned a dog.
I gave up my savings to purchase the vehicle and had my father drive it home, since it was a manual transmission and I didn’t know how to operate a manual transmission. Once we had it home, I tore into that bad boy with the kind of fervour I reserved only for karate classes. I scrubbed and shampooed the interior until it glistened. I washed and polished the outside until I could see my face in it. I polished that red turd until even the most discerning of critics couldn’t dispute that it was hell on wheels. A veritable carriage for my shenanigans. The transport towards my future.
I absolutely loved that car and went everywhere with it. It had a very weak engine with a 3-gear manual transmission. That didn’t stop me from ripping all over town like a maniac. It only had a driver’s side mirror, which apparently wasn’t illegal at the time the car was sold. I also had to learn how to drive a manual transmission from scratch. I’m surprised I didn’t blow the transmission out of that bastard in the first week. But I learned. And I drove.
That car served me extremely well for several years, including getting me to college and back home for two years. I remember one year, the heater gave out and the windshield would frost on the inside, forcing my passengers and I to scrape the inside of the windshield every few minutes. It was a brutal act and it met a brutal end. One day while trying to overtake a vehicle on the highway, I blew out the engine. That’s what I get for red-lining the RPM’s on a dinky 4-cylinder engine. But I digress.
Over the years, I’ve held fond memories of that car. It was the first vehicle I ever owned. The first vehicle I went on a road trip on my own with, the first vehicle I travelled out of town, out of Province and out of control. It’s carried friends, family, loved ones and more burger wrappers and empty coffee cups than I can count. It brings up an important point regarding perspective. By my own standards today, I would never purchase such a dilapidated, trusted vehicle with unreliable parts and a danger to my family and I. But back then, that piece of shit was like a Rolls Royce to me…
That brings us to the here and now. As I’ve grown into adulthood, owning a vehicle has become more of a household necessity and convenience than the liberating tool of freedom it was considered in my teens and twenties. Throughout the majority of our relationship, my wife and I have pretty much always owned two vehicles. This has made it easy to have one of us at work and the other still capable of running errands and doing their own thing. However, once the COVID-19 pandemic kicked in and I found myself sitting at home for a significant period of time, paying for two vehicles seemed redundant, so I sold my car.
However, recent events have prompted us to once again purchase a second, smaller vehicle for me to use to get to work and run errands (“recent events” meaning I backed our SUV and smashed out one of the mirrors). I purchased the used vehicle you see above. It’s clean, in perfect working condition and is new-to-me. Limited mileage and a smooth ride, it sits a bit lower to the ground and has some significant peppiness for a vehicle so easy on fuel. It’s bee great.
The irony is that my first car was a Toyota hatchback. And although it took effectively twenty five years, I appear to have come full circle with yet another Toyota hatchback. Some people need their muscle cars or sports cars, motorbikes or leisure vehicle. Me, I just need something easy on gas that lets me hug the road. The household is now adjusting to the fact that even if I’m work, my wife can still run errands, attend appointments and bring the boys on outings. Things have changed since I was a younger man. A car is no longer a luxury, it’s a necessity. But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a bit of nostalgia in the process. Food for thought… ☯️
The Blogging Buddhist 