[July 13, 2019]
Per usual I was going to exit my car and head up to my apartment. “Oh, I need to get all of my stuff out of my car since I’ll be leaving it for Delaney.” ALL of my stuff, I realized. I’ll start now, I thought. I opened the glovebox and began sorting through all the documents and miscellaneous items. “WAIT,” it hit me. “THIS is IT.” The depart from my car. I cried. It’s the first full goodbye I have had to say. Well, besides work. But I will quickly have new work. It’s unknown whether I will quickly have another car. The tears came. It is a loss. It’s a thing. I’ve beat it around. I haven’t taken the proper care of it that it deserves through the years. I was slow to get it washed, clean it out, keep it neat. But I still have CDs in the 5-disc player that have been in there since I first got it in 2012.
I cried when I left for college when I had that Honda loaded down. But now, I was crying because that Honda has been unloaded. It’s carried me faithfully from Point A to Point B—the best quality of a car, as Mr. David Jennings would always say—all these years. It let me SCREAM at the top of my lungs—most of the time in song, but sometimes from anger and hurt. It heard a lot of laughs, it held a lot of good friends—and at times, complete strangers—it saw tears. In ways, it has seen a side of me that I have never shown anyone. I mean, it’s seen me pick my nose. It’s heard many prayers. It knows how I frequently—and gluttonously—exceed the speed limit.
I never thought about it before: it has served me as a sanctuary: for all the reasons listed above, and what’s more: it’s a place where I commune with God. I hear from God in those solitary drives, especially the longs ones. I disregard any need to be anything else but myself when I sing those pure, whole-hearted worship songs from the driver’s seat. My most freeing moments are [speeding] down the interstate with all windows and the sunroof down, singing without reserve, my arm resting outside the window. Those moments make me feel unstoppable, an energy uncontained.
It’s never easy to say goodbye to a sanctuary, a safe place.
I doubt I’ll write a piece that is equally as personal or emotional about leaving a loved one. I think it would hurt too much. I can’t quite go there. Because I’m really going to miss being near the people in my life.
It’s all a gift. Gifts are meant to be enjoyed. I have REALLY enjoyed these gifts—my car, these people. What more could I say?
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