It’s hard to imagine life in America without an automobile. Getting from our homes to work, school, stores, and other events would be impossible, or at least infinitely more difficult for the majority of people sans automobile. But as with so many things in modern America, cars have become much more than basic instruments of utility. They are big. They are fancy. They are rolling tributes to the infinitely expanding debt that our economic system has produced. Although I find our economic system a very important topic worthy of many posts and in depth conversations, today I want to focus on something less macro. I want to talk about the daily dividends my crappy car pays me in the form of mental peace.
The real problem with the fancy cars that so many of us drive around in is that, deep down, we know we can’t afford it. We have loans outstanding that often rival a year’s worth of our salaries. And so what do we do? We obsessively guard the cars. We are on the lookout for runaway shopping carts and grandmas with less than perfect control over how far they swing their car doors open. We buy Armor-All in bulk and refuse to take trips so we don’t “put a ton of miles on the car.”
All of this worry is detrimental to our physical and mental health. Stress is already an epidemic in America, so why are we so eager to pile more on? I like to simplify my life, and to not have to care about the small things. That’s why my car is a piece of crap.
But lest you think that is a disparaging remark, allow me to clarify: I love my piece of crap. I’ve named him Pete. You may have guessed it, but “Pete” comes from the fact that he’s a Chrysler PT Cruiser. 105,000 miles. Dings in the doors. Rust on the back. Stains on the seats. Kelly Blue Book tells me he’s worth about $1,500 on a good day. But the value here is so much more than monetary.
Just last week I was in a Walmart parking lot, when a stressed out mother of a young child nearly fell apart when her daughter flung open her back door into my car. It was hot out, and both of us had our windows down. I heard her gasp and say “oh my god” and jump out of the car with a litany of apologies, clearly very worried about the new dent now in the side of my car. I simply got out and took a look out of curiosity. I then had the opportunity to look another human being in the eyes and say what I believe to be one of the most beautiful phrases in modern English: “Don’t worry about it.” The pleasure I received in that moment by releasing another human from an unpleasant situation was far more gratifying than driving around in a beautiful new car. If I had been, then I likely would have reacted differently, and two people, myself and the mother, would have walked away from the encounter bitter and angry.
The point is, driving my old car allows me to not care. I have the freedom of not being worried if something happens to it. It’s worth almost as much in scrap metal as it is in drivable condition, so I don’t worry even if a major incident happens. It is paid off, so I owe no debt, and there is no lienholder on the title. I may do as I wish with the vehicle in any moment. And the amount of money driving it saves me in insurance premiums and rapid depreciation is enough to fund things I truly care about. When the time comes to replace Pete, and I certainly hope that is far off in the future, I will find another just like him, cut from the same cloth. A car who isn’t high maintenance or self-important, with few worries and a quietly calm demeanor. Because eventually, those traits rub off on the owner, and the car becomes once again a bearer of freedom instead of the modern day leather wrapped ball and chain.