Are We What We Drive? Goldie Locks and the Three Touaregs

Yesterday I leased my first car. All by myself. I know what MSRP means now and dealer incentives and VIN number and a lot more. It took several folks with wisdom to guide me to my Goldie-my just right car. Three slipped out of my hands this week. My Color my Make and my Price. All gone, which of course increased my want. All of a sudden what I want is a hot commodity. On the near eve of my 49th birthday, I finally exercised the gumption to get my lemony auto out of my garage and into the hands of another. My car had been a rascal for 4 years, running havoc over my finances and my wits, living more days in the shop than in my parking garage. She, YakYak, personalized plates engraved in her honor, (my name backward twice and well I talk, a lot) is gone. From day one we weren't a proper match and I knew it. So off with her headlights. In with the new.

I did not have the knowledge or patience on how to go about the business of getting a car sold or purchased. I bumbled through it. I had car savvy dude helpers get me through the initiation and the keys to my VW are in the side zipper of my hand bag as a result.

I went to a lovely ladies dinner tonight and everyone had interesting, cool, fulfilling lives. Lucky us. Yet, my conversation shares went to the topic of Goldie, my new car. I adore her. She matches me. I am certain the ladies were wondering who invited the car talker to the table. During dinner we all went around expressing our thanks to the hostess and a bit of our story and connection to one another. It was nice to share girl shoptalk. Lipstick, love, purpose, and Trump (what the hell?). I leaned in and said to my friends nearest, God it is so nice to have an evening clear of some dude incessantly going on and F'n on about his new car. Pause, cricket land, no response. Shit, I was that dude tonight.

I was courted by a hip cool inventor from up north, a few months after the ink had dried on filing for divorce. I hadn't been on a date in 18.25 years. M picked me up for our first get together. He smelled really good. He was wise, witty and just enough handsome. He opened the car door. Life is looking up, chivalry and all. I liked how the car felt. I usually do not notice such things unless they are making me uncomfortable. I felt tucked into my new story as a passenger in this car. I liked the ride. This would be my car selection one day, I vowed to my first date self. He selected out of the gazillion options in the world to the likes of folks like him blessed with brilliance and bank, a VW diesel Touareg. 5.75 years later I drove this year's version of that car home. Yesterday. Perhaps it was the first date new start correlation. The car symbolizing my reset, my new chapter. Who knows, though this car got under my skin and this hadn't happened to me before.

The car I had bought at the time of my new chapter beginning (5 years ago) suited an image of what I thought I was or rather what someone told me I was. It was fancy and fragile and high maintenance. This is not who I wish to be. I yearned for a lovely, practical, safe, user friendly, gorgeous set of wheels. My new car search, my new life's purpose search and my new love search mirrored Goldie Lock's. Too hot. Too cold. Too short. Too tall. Too big. Too small. And now after much research and test driving I love my choices.

My car is finally an extension of me. The me I am and the me I am yearning to be. She suits me. She is just right, Golide Locks.

Does your car suit your youer than you self?