my car affects my moods. when she’s well, i’m happy. all is good, i can deal with whatever life throws at me. when she’s sick, or not near me, i’m depressed. why is this?
my car means more than independence. i usually have something to drive even if it’s not her, so why am i affected so? it’s more than the fact that she’s light to handle, has a good turning circle and is tall and bright enough to be found in carparks. she also represents refuge, agency, competence and identity. people recognise her, she’s been there for me for the last eight and a half years. when i’m upset i go for a drive in her, and it’s just not the same in anything else; the impulse to drive aggressively fast to wollongong becomes a meditative experience where direction is maintained but the speed limit is not. keeping her happy is a challenge, but i’m learning how to fix her, and therefore the world.