My first car represented one thing: freedom. It allowed me to go places on my own free will. It allowed me to leave places, too. And people. Over the 14 years I owned my Ford Focus, I transported 6 different dogs, several large pieces of furniture, and my hopes and dreams. I was married and divorced twice, owned two homes, and started three businesses while driving that car.
In November 2018, I replaced it.
I’d resisted getting a new car for several years, always choosing to keep my $0/month car payment and relatively good gas mileage.
But I resisted getting something new for a bigger reason… I felt guilty.
When I was 16, I was primed to receive a Ford Mustang. My dad promised it to me for my birthday. But I had an overprotective mother when it came to driving, and despite my father’s protest, she forbade him to gift me with those wheels.
Instead, my dad gave me my little hatchback when I was nearly 20. It took him almost 4 years, until I was a college student living off campus, to win the “let’s buy her a car” argument with my mother.
Although not a Mustang, I was thrilled with the car — heated seats, a six-disc CD player, and most of all, freedom.
Over the 10+ years I drove the car, every few months this conversation would transpire:
Dad: How’s your little car doing?
Me: It’s great Dad. I just did [insert maintenance job] and it should keep running great.
And it did. Besides going through more sets of tires than seemed reasonable, my car was reliable, steady, safe.
Fast forward to fall of 2018. My reliable old car had slowly crept into several other states of being: loud, ornery, rattling, and occasionally ant infested (long story), but more than anything, it stopped making me feel good.
While almost every aspect of my day-to-day had been upleveled thanks to snowballing success — wardrobe, skin care products, pantry, tech, clients, relationship, even my sofa — my car had fallen sorely behind.
occasionally frequently avoid leaving the house because I didn’t want to drive the car. I’d swap cars with my fiance when I went on road trips because my car didn’t match how I wanted to feel or who I was anymore.
So I decided, reluctantly, that it was time. I’d fallen in love with the Chevy Equinox during a chance rental car encounter, but something made me think a little bigger. A Chevy Traverse would position me for the future.
A seven-passenger vehicle would allow me to transport small groups of clients on adventures. I’d be ready for a child, or three, to enter the picture someday. I’d no longer avoid driving at night. I wouldn’t question the reliability of my car for longer journeys.
It took exactly one week for my brand new, seven-seater, leather interior, sparkly brown Chevy Traverse to be parked in front of our townhouse.
(I kept looking out the window wondering who was visiting!! It took me several days to internalize that the car was mine!)
Do you not work outside your home because your laptop is about the same age as a T-Rex? Doo you avoid being seen driving your car because it went from being a memento of your “old” self and a splotch on the new vision you’ve created for yourself?
Chances are good those things you’ve identified could use some TLC and manifesting action.