It was a sorrowful farewell : I pulled the Porsche out of the garage for the final time and drove that tearful trail to Carmax. I took the wayward path, top-down, enjoying one last twisty turny mountain path before I hit the parking lot and went to speak to the dealer about making a sale. We were moving to NY City and the car had to stay behind. I would miss her, but I figured I could take the money for the trade-in and save it for another car later on.

It was a shock, a slap in the face, when the Carmax folks came back with an offer that barely covered the rest of the car payments. The Pro came-out to explain; that slight catching feeling I had noticed during acceleration, it was a mechanical problem — some serious $$$ repairs were necessary, so it decreased the value of the car.  It made sense, plus I had no choice with a plane to catch in just 2 days. I took their offer and left, too angry, hurt and ashamed to even look at that Porsche before walking out of the lot and to the train station.

I sat on the train and seethed — I felt so angry, deceived, ashamed — in my mind that car was so valuable, so precious. I had spent so much time, energy and care to own and preserve it. I did it, because it had ‘proved’ my wealth, my status, my on-top-of-the-fucking-worldness, for so long… and then, in the end, it proved me a fool.  It was like a husband who makes me feel so special, only for me to learn I’m but one of 100s of their lovers: Used.

“That fucking car lied” I thought.  But really, did the car whisper its worth in my ear? That car never lied to me, I lied to me.  I saw that rupa (form) and I imagined a value. In fact, I imagined a whole fairy tale with me as the buttoned-up, well-to-do, heroine with a fast and flashy car; so clever, so poised, so on-top-and-in-charge. A broken, worthless car, wrecked my fantasy — it told a different tale, one of a person who can’t preserve or control their shit, one who is hoodwinked by flashy baubles, an anti-hero loser in the end. The problem with believing my own fantasy is that reality will always, ultimately, make itself known…so is the fantasy really worth it for the temporary, delusion-based happiness it brings?

Now I have no car, no money and a whole lot of disappointment. And who set me up for that? (Me obviously).