Making Space

   A few weeks ago, over on the Porch Swing Chronicles, I wrote about the mixed emotions I had as I embarked on the journey of getting a new car. I thought that post would be the end of it. I'd pour my feelings out onto the page, contemplate the right name for my new vehicle (the only one I've ever actually considered naming), and move on to other posts. 

But a funny thing happened that week, a moment in time that opened the door to a deeper understanding of the emotions behind this whole process. I was running some errands, dropping things off here and there. I’d parked my car out in front of my friend's house and, as I was heading up the driveway to get into my car and drive home, I saw the new car and thought, "That's my car."

That's my car?

Pretty and shiny, not yet hard-driven or well-loved.

But mine. The realization made me smile, and it made me think. 

Driving my Scion past its prime and getting every penny out of the car payments I'd made on my first-ever new car had been a point of pride. It was a choice that said I wasn't the kind of person who needed to have a new car every five years. I was practical, not frivolous; conservative, not wasteful. And, more important, driving my beloved Scion for as long as possible was a thing I could do to make another thing -- a much less logical thing -- happen. 

I could retire from my school counseling job. Although I didn't realize it until just last week, my Scion, like my Celica, was a declaration of independence car.

Apparently I have a pattern. 

I knew that the Scion had seen me through a lot. That I'd driven it throughout most of my daughter's life. That it had been my first ever new car. But it was only when I realized that I'd driven it through the transition from my old life to my new one -- much like my Celica -- and kept driving it after that that I began to understand why I'd been so emotional about giving it up.

Though retiring from my job in public education was bittersweet, it was the right thing to do on so many levels. But the decision was decidedly not practical. It brought emotional freedom, but carried a financial cost, one I was determined would not impact my family negatively in any significant way. I scaled back a lot of wishes, dreams, and purchases but that was my thing, not theirs. I was determined that getting the thing I wanted wouldn't come at a cost to anyone but me.

Let me be clear. This was not martyrdom. It was full out Jersey girl determination. My car was not only security (No car payment! One less thing to worry about!) but, quite literally, the vehicle that got me from my first career to my interim year to my second career.

And I became very attached.

Which explains a lot about the roller coaster of emotions I've been on for the past few weeks -- about a car, for heaven's sake! I spent a lot of time chiding myself for being so attached to an object. For crying over losing a thing. But, I wasn't just trading in a thing. I was trading in something that had gotten me from one point in my life to another, both literally and figuratively. 

Although “Let it go” is an integral part of getting organized, it’s easier to let go of some things than others. When we feel an emotional attachment to something, maybe that’s telling us something - something that we have to acknowledge before we can truly make the decision to keep it or let it go.

Hanging onto things that make us smile or even things that make us a little sad because they represent something that we no longer have doesn’t mean that we are materialistic or selfish. There’s no need to chide ourselves for feeling moved by an object. If we’re transferring all of our affection to an object, that could be concerning but if, as is often the case, that object is a trigger for something deeper, maybe it’s not such a bad idea to hang onto it a little longer.

There’s a limit of course. Hanging on to a car versus hanging onto a drawing that our twenty-something made in preschool are two completely different things. We need to acknowledge what we have space for.  But we also need to consider not only what we have space for in our homes, but in our hearts as well.

It makes me sad to think about someone else driving my Scion but it’s time to shift my thinking. Maybe, just maybe, mahatma car will be someone else's declaration of independence car. Maybe, after all she saw me through, it was time to pass her along to someone who needs her more than I do.

I have no doubt she's up to the task.