Steve spent most of yesterday doing all of the running around that is necessitated when one buys and sells a vehicle. We traded in his car and got a new (to us) mode of transport with a little more room. After a bit of musical cars, mine will become the commuter vehicle that Steve takes to work and I'll drive "The Wagon" (as I've dubbed it -- just now). Previously, no one could sit in my passenger seat because it had to be pushed all the way up to the dash to make room for the car seat in the back. So, this is a good thing. All around. And yet, I felt prickly and anxious all day yesterday. Have I mentioned that I don't like change?
Steve had his car for 12 years. It's what he drove up to my door when we first met and what he picked me up in during our courtship. Seeing that green Jetta pull into the driveway triggers a Pavlovian response in me. It means Steve is home and that is happiness. But, there's so much more to it. That snapshot image -- Steve in his car -- is like a song that makes my chest tighten because it makes me remember the old friends and laughter of a specific time and place. In so many ways "Steve" has equaled "Jetta" in my mind and letting that go has filled me with such sadness.
I keep reminding myself that we are not our possessions and all the happiness and memories of the past are still with me. The only thing I've lost is that one physical reminder of them. Isn't it funny how much importance we can place on the "stuff" in our life? I am guilty of this all the time. I get teary-eyed over old family heirlooms and am an avid thrifter, collecting all sorts of "stuff." Like everything else, it's all about balance, I suppose. And every once in awhile we have to make room in our life for the new by passing along the old.