On buying a new car: Losing a motoring soul
I am having a bit of a crisis at the moment. I have, for as long as I can remember, considered myself a car/motoring enthusiast. Yet over the last few months, I have been cast into a tempestuous sea of doubt as to whether this is still true or not. Perhaps it is the state of cars at the moment or how cars are presented, which are both hugely boring. Maybe I am not a car enthusiast at all, while others are excited to develop hot-takes for the internet, I fail to muster even a tepid idea of an opinion.
As an example of what I'm on about, I recently worked a race weekend for the local chapter of the SCCA here in the North West corner of the United States, as I do every year. However, this year felt, different. I wasn't interested in what was going on the track, and there was even less of an urgency to see all of the cool toys people brought out. I was really wishing I had just stayed home, in fact. This was a bizarre feeling for me. As anyone who knows me will attest; I usually cannot wait to get out to the track and loathe the drive home at the end of the weekend, even though all I do is push cars on and off the scales and pass out bottled water.
To people who are classically trained in the art of collecting leather seating, DSM-IVs, and Buddha heads, what I'm describing sounds a lot like depression. And while there may be a small amount of that involved, its root and indeed the primary source of this listlessness, I believe, is due to a good old fashioned broken heart. That seems to be the only explanation that makes any sense. I'm realizing that one of the few constants in my chaos for the last six years is making me miserable. I'm thinking of selling my BRZ.
There wasn't a single incident that made me want to dump this thing. The disdain just sort of grew organically like a World Rally Blue colored tumor in our relationship. Little things like not holding its doors open for me because they are too wide to open in tight parking spaces, or the excessive chatter when driving over even slightly bad roads. Just shut up already! Not to mention, my mother never approved in the first place. Her smug look when I told her I was thinking about a new car, it's enough to make you sick.
I mean seriously, there has to come a point where enough is enough. One can only take so much abuse on long-ish journeys before the thought of following its useless GPS system into the lake it wants you to drive into becomes a real option. I am now in my mid-thirties. I work in an office, literally doing what Chandler Bing did before pitching pants professionally. I'm married now and own a dog who is frankly terrified of being in my car. These are all things I am very sure of. They are facts. What I am not is sure of is that I want to be driving a small sports coupé any-longer.
In fact, I'm of half a mind to just overcorrect and buy some massive SUV. Some type of machine that is all of the things my current one isn't. Comfortable, quiet, able to carry more than a small wedge of cheese and a pencil simultaneously… boring. The problem that comes with this thought, however, is that it most certainly won't look as good. It won't feel as fun to sit in as the BRZ. What with its humps in all the right places, stirring emotion.
But even typing this thought out I can't help but argue internally that, emotion while sitting in traffic wishing you could breathe properly and that your butt wasn't numb is pointless. And the only reason those delectable humps exist is because you can't see anything not inside the car and directly in front of you. I used to think that the only thing that made a car good was that it made you happy to be in it. Maybe I still do, but it just isn't the first thought I have anymore. Now all I want is something that brings me to my destination without needing to replace a kidney. Or clean-up all the blood that has drained from my ears. Something to bring my family, and maybe some luggage to places we want to go to. Oh, and a useable infotainment system.
Looks like I’m buying a Golf.