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BY JENNIFER SILVERMAN
WHEN OUR CARS DIE, IT'S OKAY TO MOURN & GRIEVE...
A few years back, my weekends were largely devoted to sleeping in, brunching, and shopping.
These days, I’m apparently all about the aha moments.
I recently attended a weekend seminar on fear conducted by my divorce coach. One major “aha” takeaway was the notion that within each of us lies a moody 9-year-old control freak.
Seemingly, it’s these youngsters who are perpetrating our fear based thinking as adults.
Of course, it’s not just any 9-year-old bossing us around - it’s the adolescent version of ourselves.
What if our 9-year-old iterations are indeed at the helm of our brains when fear rears its ugly head, panic ensues, and logical thinking instantly evaporates? (I envision a younger me utilizing a retro Nintendo controller to implement my grownup fear-based decisions with all the wherewithal of a tween.)
And what about all the behaviors which are perfectly acceptable for kids, but unthinkable for adults?
Bringing teddy bears or security blankets to any affair is rarely frowned upon when you’re a tot.
No one blinks at the sight of a human child talking to a bevy of toy partygoers during an imaginary tea party.
And when children show empathy for inanimate objects as though they have feelings, they are often applauded. When adults greet their coffee maker good morning or apologize to the door they accidentally collide with, they’re certifiable.
That brings me to the events of the past several days.
I have only ever driven one car.
I purchased it sixteen years ago and it has been a loyal companion ever since. It’s tolerated many a close call over the decades, and accompanied me on adventures big and small, joyous, and painful.
A few days ago, my car wouldn’t start, and I had it towed to my go-to local mom and pop auto repair locale. Post-inspection, my favorite car guru took on the tricky task of considerately breaking the news to me that my beloved car was on its last leg.
(Since this particular team has meticulously tended to my car on many occasions over the years, I imagine they observed my close attachment.)
As I reflect on a vehicle I have treasured for sixteen years, and can no longer drive, I can’t help but wonder what will happen to it.
I know it sounds nutty, but I feel guilty. It’s as though I’m abandoning a dear friend.
A scene from an episode of Lost in Space that seems to be playing on a loop in my mind isn’t helping: The robot character decided he was becoming obsolete and found himself on a conveyor belt moving toward a massive, monstrous, compactor-type contraption that would forever destroy him.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised about the constant replay - the 9-year-old me loved Lost in Space.
World-renowned psychic, Sylvia Browne used to say that all inanimate objects contain a lifeforce. You may think I’ve really lost it this time, but as usual, I’m with Sylvia.
Sometimes, when a place or thing is truly cherished for many years, it’s possible to feel the energy of fondness that surrounds it.
I know grownups are not supposed to love inanimate objects, but I love that car - and I find myself in mourning.
I hope my dear old car will function like an organ donor, giving new life to other things. Maybe its lifeforce will keep on keeping on and disperse all those positive vibes.
As for the 9-year-old within me, her security blanket of sixteen years is forever out of commission.
So, we’ve agreed to mutually grieve for a while and forgo a fear of change temper tantrum.
After that, I’m taking back the steering wheel. After all, 9-year-olds have no business driving.
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