Sunday Night With John: Goodbye to my old life

"The Blueberry,"--the nickname my 2006 Chevy HHR received from my wife--will soon be exiting my life. It’s time. It's been a good run. And, while the car never really worked that great, it holds a special place in my heart. It’s the last piece of my life, before being married to a wonderful woman, that still is used on a consistent basis. One of three last vestiges of my rootless, messy life, it's the one where the cleanliness of the place I called home did not matter. I do not miss that life. In fact, I have never had a better life than the one I occupy now, but it was nice to think a small piece of that life still existed through the Blueberry.

But that does not mean the Blueberry leaving my atmosphere doesn’t cause a small tear to run down my face. It was the car that took me on my first ever back-packing trip to the Badlands and numerous other hiking trips. The fact that I could just toss my muddy, wet, sweaty gear in the back, damn the strains on the upholstery, was one of the most freeing feelings in the world. There was the time where it had a computer glitch that only allowed the car to go 25 miles per hour. It turned a 20-minute drive into an hour-long affair. The best part of that story is, by the time I got it to the repair shop, the glitch self-corrected. I paid $120 for nothing, stupid Blueberry. The Blueberry will live on in one of my proudest moments, when I moved into the first house as an adult where I was putting down real roots with my fiance, now wife. I moved in all my possessions in one Blueberry load. Everyone laughed at how little I owned. I smiled that I was, oh, so happy with so little.

The Blueberry is a window into who I used to be. And, who I used to be led me to who I am now. Until we come to grips with our past and accept who we were, it’s tough to discover any semblance of genuine happiness. It’s tough to reach those moments we will remember, when all we have left is our memories, if we do not realize the effort it took to climb to those heights. So, while my wife avoids taking my car because of the messy trash bin it has become, I hold that trash bin, with all it warts, near and dear to my heart. My life was messy but it needed to be. I needed to own next to nothing and laugh at a car that, when it rained, the passenger-side floor would fill up with two inches of water. I now have a life I never dreamed I could have. The roots I planted are deep and strong through the love of friends and family (I do not care how cheesy this line is. It’s true). The Blueberry drove me to a better life.  I do not long to keep the Blueberry because I want to return to my old life. I cling to it as a reminder that I have so much more than I ever dreamed I would. And, if life throws me two inches of rain leaking through a car, I’ll handle it just fine.

The Blueberry and I have a couple more rides together. It deserves a Viking funeral that it probably will not get. I already had to promise to take way better care of the next car I get. The thing is, the guy who I was, and the guy who wants to take better care of the next car, are different. I’ve changed. I’ve grown, and I no longer want to wander. I like my roots. So while I’m preparing to say goodbye to a car that never really worked right, it actually did its job perfectly. The only two things left in use from my old life are an old Marycrest University sweatshirt (my first college which is now defunct) and the baseball jersey (Grand Valley Storm) that I was wearing when my dad died. And for either one of those vestiges to disappear from use they will have to be pried from my death grip.  But as to the Blueberry--it’s time to go, but thanks for the ride. You got me to the correct destination.