Farewell Letter

I enjoyed keeping you alive

Dearest departed,

I can admit this to you now that you’re gone: you weren’t my first choice. I had my eyes on another, but they weren’t available. I must be clear in saying I didn’t settle. I was enamored at first sight, but I had to readjust all those images in my head — all the scenes where I’d pictured us adventuring far beyond the beaten path. The truth is that you lacked the capabilities to fulfill those visions, so committing to you meant a different lifestyle, but my gut told me you were the one, and I went with it.
They told me you were damaged goods, but it was nothing I couldn’t fix. And sure, that was expensive, but it was worth it to me. People would leave me notes saying if I ever decided to get rid of you, to give them a call. But I had no plans to do such a thing. I would take you to your grave. That was the plan from the day I laid eyes on you. I just thought we had more time before we’d get there.
    There were those that laughed because you weren’t the same as the others. But we did just fine. We saw most of PCH together, from San Diego all the way up to Portland. You were my refuge in Big Sur when I found my tent filled with black widows and thought it was safer to sleep with you. I thought you were giving up on me at Mammoth Lakes, when the heat almost took you down for good, but we had another 3 or 4 years of fun after that. Dirt roads in Joshua Tree. Surfing out in Manhattan Beach. And snowed in up in Lake Arrowhead earlier this year.
    I had a friend join us that one time, and he said to me, “You’re like my dad. You love old things, and I don’t get why.” I didn’t bother to explain. He couldn’t appreciate your shape or the way you stood out in a sea of formless carbon copies. He couldn’t see that you symbolized an era when we appreciated personality and design, rather than a soulless form that said nothing at all.

At a certain point, life just becomes a practice of keeping things alive, and you’ve got to make choices on which things you want to put your time into doing so with. Your career. Your dreams. Your dog. Your relationship. 

I enjoyed keeping you alive.

I’ll remember you by your nickname — that slur that we turned into something endearing. The name they used in that Reddit forum where I sought mechanical advice, but then they found out you were 2WD and wouldn’t help me. 

Rest in peace, mall crawler. You witnessed more than you were built to see.

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THE RECORD CLUB

Last week’s selection was Oasis - The Masterplan (1998)

You can find my ramblings on last week’s record in the comment section below.

This week’s selection is…

Week #16
The Jam - The Gift (1982)