January 6, 2009
In with the New
New Year's is a curious tradition. People the world over gather to celebrate an arbitrary day out of 365 - the selection of which seems to lack any reason beyond political decree - with the belief that the dawning of this specific sun somehow brings the power to change things. Without information of where the Earth's revolution about its star began, even astronomy seems to fail as a guide. The day only marks one year since our planet last occupied the same position, one year since glasses were last raised in Auld Lang Syne.For two consecutive days I have driven home under soft orange skies. Words for me are in short supply at the moment, but I couldn't help wondering why either of those endings was any less significant. Aren't we promised that every single day we get is new? Doesn't the rising of tomorrow's sun present the same opportunity as the one observed on January 1st?
I wonder what the world would be like if every day were approached with the same mindset as New Year's. What if instead of making resolutions for the coming year (which everybody knows will be dropped before a notable fraction of it is gone) to change our lives broadly, we made resolutions consisting of one or two attainable ways to meaningfully improve the coming day. The small steps are certainly less intimidating to approach and I imagine they could eventually bring about the globally desired change. What's more, if we fail, we have the comfort of knowing that new days come more frequently than new years. We can start over immediately.
I have never been one for making New Year's resolutions. This dislike traces all the way back Elementary school when our first journal entry after Christmas vacation was guaranteed to be something about our goals for 1980- or 1990-whatever. The entire concept seemed absurd to me. Why did I have to change things just because it was a new year? What if I didn't want to change anything? What if I knew something should change but I didn't want to do it yet? Still, the assignment had to be completed. I would compile a minimal list of tasks I had no intention of addressing for the sole purpose of receiving the necessary checkmark. The page would never be looked at again.
In that memory I recognize even "little" me may have been on to something. The truth is that new beginnings can happen at any time; we just have to choose and actively work toward them. The latter is usually the most difficult part. It's easy to get off track.
My stands so far this year have been unpredictable - unplanned actions taken at times I would not have chosen had they been considered in advance. I have no doubts about their necessity, just of my ability to handle the wake. Still, I have to believe that the Right Thing does come about in the end.
When 2007 drew to a close I was surprised that optimism for the coming year had overcome the usual indifference. I knew there would be countless opportunities for 2008 to prove me wrong, but on the whole I believe it met the expectations. When I look at 2009 I feel certain it presents a very rough section in the road ahead. I won't pretend to be pleased about the change, but I can accept it as something I must and will overcome. I also know it won't pass with one giant leap to 2010. The only way through is one day at a time.
Captured At:2138
January 9, 2009
Atonement
Among the captions seen on FoxNews this afternoon was the potential dimensions of Bernard Madoff's cell. The name failed to achieve recognition. I was then educated and, as I often do, concluded that I don't know how anybody can do something like he has. Apparently I wasn't alone.But when it came to the question of actually doing it myself I couldn't claim that I never would. Experience has - fortunately or not - shown me that I am capable of things I would not have believed I could do even if I had been told in advance. Granted I never set out to cause the resulting harm, but when have intentions ever mattered in the end? It seems people seldom look past another's failures to see the heart behind them.
As conversation evolved I remarked that I had been a good kid in many respects but not a particularly nice person. The recent activities I was cited in response were only signs that I had grown, not that I had somehow canceled out the wrongs I've committed. I don't believe I will ever atone for my mistakes and I said so.
The progress I have made in who I am as a person over the course of my life is probably my greatest success, but it doesn't make up for where I have fallen short. I can continue to strive for better, but I cannot undo what has already been done. I cannot erase the memories or ignore the varying weights the consequences place on my life. I cannot forgive for myself what must be genuinely forgiven by others.
Forgiveness is a tricky thing. The words are easy, but the action is extremely difficult. I made an argument against somebody recently which, if I had looked through a newer lens, I would have known to be false. Naturally I was called on it, and rightly so. My eyes were blind to the present. Instead they skipped my mind back to a pattern of behaviour that, if I was honest, had somewhat improved. Somewhat.
Unfortunately all it did was confirm what had set things in motion to begin with. Nothing could make things different. My feelings were programmed in a biased way and my thoughts would continue to jump in directions that were unfair to all involved. How could I pretend I belonged calling myself a friend? How could I even consider sticking around?
It's tough to look at somebody who cares for you - somebody who hurts with you and for you - and realize that nothing they could ever say or do is going to be enough. I see the heart behind the failures and it doesn't matter. Part of me is always going to question that heart. There is no win.
I'm thankful I can recognize the truth of the situation, but I'm not proud of it. I acknowledge that I am denying another the very things I have been denied. I acknowledge that I am failing to do for someone else what I would want done for me. It's one more example of falling beneath a bar I can never reach, one more reason I will continue to feel like I will never make things right. In the end my mind will see the failing as my own. It always does. And where does the forgiveness come for that?
Captured At:2309
January 10, 2009
I intend no criticism in the comments above. When I learned of the news I, too, planned to be a spectator. I've seen many eerily large moons, but never before was I given any advance notice of their appearance. It seemed as good a night as any to visit the beach with my camera and see what I could find. I looked up the time for moonrise and decided to build my day around it the way I once did regularly with low tide.
It should come as no real surprise to me that the day had other plans. The general unwellness I had been battling all week struck another major victory as dizziness prompted an early departure from yoga. My body still needed rest - the more the better.
Defiance led me to set an alarm anyway. I was willing to push back chores and errands, but I could not convince myself to abandon the one moment of truly experiencing life I would get today.
The first beach I drove to had more people lined up along its railing than I wanted to deal with. The second was quieter. A few others who brought cameras sat on the beach or stood at the top of the stairs taking pictures. I did my share of standing and wandering, of snapping away and just watching. If I was honest, it didn't look much different.
When I left the sand to use the railings as a camera support I noticed several people had gone. The disappearance of the rest went equally unnoticed until I realized I was standing under the moonlight alone. I soaked in the scene before me and couldn't believe they had all given up so quickly. The sun's position hadn't been ideal at first, but as the moon continued to rise it cast beautiful light on the waves. It was the most magical part of the entire experience; getting out to feel it may have been the first truly good thing I did for myself all week.
I guess what I saw tonight is the difference between sniffing the roses and smelling them. Choosing the first of those two options strikes me as only marginally fulfilling, though I'm sure it's more than enough for some. At least they stopped, right? There's hope for them yet.
Their next lesson: Sometimes the real reward is not in the stopping but in the in staying. If you're willing to wait, you allow yourself the opportunity to be truly amazed.
Captured At:2227
January 17, 2009
For a moment I flashed back to my final year of undergraduate study. I remembered that fall semester where everybody thought I would kill myself, and I smiled with the knowledge that it ended up being one of my best. Somehow chaos has always forced me to excel. The more I have, the harder I work.
But I would be foolish to ignore the truth that it never comes without cost. Five years ago I returned for my final semester having found no real time to replenish myself. I continued to try to give my best, noticing several places along the way where that best fell well below my bar. In the increased downtimes I realized how much I had sacrificed; how much had slipped away and was continuing to disappear in front of my eyes.
Today, as I consider everything I've told myself I should do this year and everything I need to do, I see the most important task ahead of me is to not repeat what I already know ends badly. I must find a non-destructive balance. I need to identify how to produce quality work without sacrificing my own well-being. I need to determine how to satisfy my obligations to others - real or perceived - without becoming so steeped in them that I neglect myself. I need to keep enough focus to get the jobs done, but not so much that I lose sight of everything else that I believe to be important. But aren't these things really part of the great challenge that is life?
As we queued in the jetway last night I noticed only one person on their cell phone. I couldn't make out her conversation, but somewhere in the muttering I caught the word "insurance". I then imagined a world before the invasion of mobile devices. How many things become urgent today that we would have let wait a decade ago? Why do we allow the buzz or obnoxious ringtone of pocket technology to change our course at any given moment? Why do we close out the world instead of opening ourselves up to experience the unexpected? Using technology without being ruled by it is another great challenge in life - one many haven't quite woken up to yet. Learning how to do so is on my list as well.
When the announcement was made that we had reached 10,000 feet you could hear the shuffle of belongings as people pulled out their laptops and MP3 players. I followed suit and pressed myself up against the window to continue watching the day close. It seemed wrong to run away from the sunset and leave the best part of the sky behind me. In the peace of watching the orange slowly fade away I wondered why it is humans have to dissect everything; why science and logic have to explain away the world. I know why the sky turns colors as the sun goes down, but I generally give the process no thought as I watch it happen. The awe that floods me is all that truly matters and I wonder how anybody who experiences that sensation can say there are no miracles and there is no God.
With all of those thoughts committed to digital paper I can release them and focus on other things that need my attention. The words seem of no real significance, but perhaps one day I will be glad to have not lost them. I struggle with the sense of incompletion, but if I'm honest, they need no structure, no beginning, and have no defined end. My mind knows how to fill in the holes and find the missing pieces. The brain is truly amazing.
Captured At:1412
January 20, 2009
The New Messiah
Like many citizens of the United States, part of my day consisted of watching the inauguration of our 44th President. It was to be a day of historical significance; a day that, to be quite honest, I didn't care much about at all. But since it marked the arrival of my new boss, the least I could do was stand in the lunchroom watching his image projected onto its front screen. I am no less nervous than I was before.But let me put politics aside for a moment. Let me step away from my personal opinions of a man whose tenacity I respect and whose positions I fear. Let me forget for just a moment that my livelihood comes from an organization he is likely to pillage and repurpose.
When I cast all of those things away my hesitations remain. The strongest driver comes not from the man, but in the way people receive him. The crowds depicted in the media today were unlike anything I had ever seen. The closest thing I could liken it to come from black and white shots I've seen taken during the age of BeatleMania. The mass hysteria truly evades me. Somehow a sizable portion of my home country has turned into a gaggle of teenage girls.
Members of this new congregation wear the man's face on their shirts, bags and coats, equating him with the likes of Hannah Montana. The "I love you Dave" girl that somehow made it to every DMB concert I attended and her friends have clearly chosen a new object of adoration. They cheer at the mention of his name and shout that name in the silences. These masses absorb every word Obama says, every emotion he conveys, and build within their minds the belief that this man and this man alone is their saviour, the nation's redeemer, the end of all their woes in this world. He alone wields the power to change it all.
I take no issue with hope. Hope spurs us on at all of those moments when we wish most to give up. I take no issue with change. Change is part of life and acceptable provided it is done for the right reasons and not merely for change's sake. I take no issue with the American dream or the founding ideals of our amazing nation. History shows us to be strong-willed and determined and a slew of other admirable adjectives.
But the sad truth is that we seem a far cry from those days. Our strengths have become the things of memories, not the here and now. Extreme circumstances seem the only thing capable of bringing out the best in us anymore.
Maybe it isn't as bad as it appears. Maybe the shift in perception can be blamed on a negative, sensational, manipulative media. Maybe I'm jaded from living in a world whose values and decisions I have always failed to comprehend.
I make no attempt to pretend I have faith in collective groups of people. The star-struck horde I witnessed today is one such entity. I wonder how much of their response is true belief in this man's ideals and how much is because they've been swept away by buzzwords and the promise of something great. I wonder how much of their support is because they desire better for the nation and how much of it is because they desire better for them.
There is no doubt that we are in difficult times. There is no doubt we have more of them ahead. But placing everything we dream of on the shoulders of one fragile man isn't going to carry us through. I sincerely pray that the American people are willing to do more than just vote for change or hope for change; that they will actually take an active role in bringing it about. I pray our politicians will be led to serve their people instead of their self-interests and do what is truly best for our battered nation. We need a country-wide change of heart and change in priorities before we can ever hope to improve our position. Those places are where real change begins.
And if we are so blessed as to see the United States come full circle, I hope the credit goes where it belongs. Obama cannot become the people's new god. He is one man. Like each of us, alone he can do nothing.
Captured At:1927
January 21, 2009
Why Her Soul is in the Stars
When I was a child one of the items in our bedroom library was a set of encyclopedias written specifically for kids. The 15 volume collection spanned most of the top row in our little blue bookshelf, each member dedicated to a different subject. It told us stories and taunted us with crafts and costumes we'd never make. It covered animals and dinosaurs and holidays around the world. It catalogued medical conditions and burned images of some into my head that I can still see to this day."World and Space", the fourth volume, was one of my favorites. Volcanoes and weather didn't hold my interest, but space certainly did. I'd read about how scientists thought the Earth was formed and how they believed it would end. I could name all of the planets in order, and I knew everything about them and the sun and our solar system that the book offered. I was mesmerized by the images I saw and wondered what it would be like to see Jupiter out my window - not in the sky, but to actually observe the gas giant with my own two eyes, its great red spot twirling ominously before me.
But the one image I remember intriguing me the most was of Pluto. It was much smaller than the rest, blurry and barely there with Charon in tow. To some it would have been a disappointment after pages of vivid color, but not to me. I would look at that dot and wonder if we'd ever get a better picture. What was it really like?
I haven't thought of that image in years. What brought it to mind today was a visit to the New Horizons website and the realization that I actually will get an answer. In ten years time the shape and color of everyone's favourite former planet will be as recognizable as Saturn or Mars. It's amazing.
That awed curiosity I've experienced looking at dots is something I have never been able to explain. It hasn't mattered whether they were drops of ink portraying a nondescript celestial body or tiny leaks in the heavens above. Something about them always shouted out and tugged and drew deep moments of attention that little else could.
I admit this sentiment, I recall hours of flipping pages I probably had memorized, and I remain utterly baffled that I never once considered making pursuit or study of the heavens my life. Getting a job at NASA just might be the best "accident" I have ever had.
There is something intrinsic that drives people to explore; something that those who lack it are unable to comprehend. They ask why it is we should take the risks of putting people in space. Why send humans when robots can do the job for less money?
Well, why did hundreds of thousands of people flock to Washington D.C. in sub-freezing temperatures for yesterday's inauguration when they could have stayed home in the warmth and watched it on television? Answer: the experience. There is tremendous difference between seeing the moment and being in the moment.
I can hear the rebuttal now: "But they spend their own money to do that, not mine. Why are you wasting so much outside the atmosphere when those resources are desperately needed within it?" That question is much harder. Those of us who believe in this quest each have our own answers for why we would choose as we do.
Where some see waste, I see investment. I see that the money and the time we expend now mean that one day, perhaps 85 years in the future after I'm long gone, some little girl hopping pages on the web won't have to go her entire life wondering how softly Saturn glows. One afternoon she'll look out the window of her spaceship and it will be there in all its glory for her to see.
Somebody's blood will be racing through her veins as she squeals with delight that first time. They may not have cared about the cosmos themselves, but her desire to touch those worlds will be possible in part by great-grandparents she never knew. Many of us die hoping we've done something good in life; that we've given something worth remembering. There are few gifts better than being able to make real the dreams of someone you love.
I may not be able to explain the reason why my soul is in the stars, but I can offer evidence of why it is I think it's there. The story that set things in motion tonight is one such piece. Whenever it is that tug first grabbed me, it never left. While the rest of my family was pressing the fast forward button on their tape decks a teenage me was drinking in a melody and hanging on a lyrical phrase she could feel in every cell of her being.
Yet I have no plans to sign up for a ride. I accepted long ago that my internal ache for the stars cannot be satisfied by anything man could ever offer. I recall that youngest version of myself and acknowledge that part of me has always been lost hopelessly within the black dancing between the constellations. It plays where telescopes can't quite see and rockets cannot go. The divide between us fuels everything I am. It may be out of reach, but I know we are both exactly where we belong.
Captured At:2206
January 24, 2009
...You've Gotta Let Me Go
Shortly after 5p all thoughts of work were abandoned. I donned clothes more suitable for public and left a vacant apartment behind. Sunset seems to be one of the few things I can be on time for. I parked my car, played human Frogger with 192, and watched the shades of orange deepen behind the peak of the bridge. The reason why I chose this location and this activity to close the day evaded me. I had walked the causeway only one other time in my life - as part of the Crop Walk with the Student Ambassadors in March 2004. That event produced a crayon drawing of a lonely planet that I still have on my refrigerator and this lovely gem:
I remember being furious about the mini church service we were forced to sit though before the walk began. Somehow its existence in the program had been omitted from the information I had. I strongly believed it was wrong to spring something like that on a person - especially one as devoid of religious inclination as I was. One friend and I whispered sarcastic commentary to each other through the entire thing in spite of being convinced that such behaviour meant we were going to hell. The sound of crackling flames could have drowned out the worship music.
My response as a whole was certainly not one of my finer moments. I'm ashamed of the intolerance and ignorance I displayed that afternoon. I'm thankful I grew out of it.
But some things time fails to touch. As I retraced five year old footsteps I realized my life today feels every bit as much at a crossroads as it did then. Granted my second graduation carries nowhere near as much significance as the first, but I am asking many of the same questions today.
Perhaps the biggest difference is that after five years of college my progress was undeniable. I could trace my evolution as a person, as a student, and as a leader. I downplayed them, but I was well aware of my accomplishments. I knew I had done more than just run organizations. I knew I had impacted the people around me - most for the better. I also recognized that the school had nothing more to offer me. There was nothing else I could achieve and, as much as it scared me, it really was time to go. I didn't know how to walk away and leave everything I knew behind, but I had to.
After nearly five years of work I struggle to find the same sense of satisfaction when I review the journey. I've watched my GS number increase rapidly. I've stuffed a number of certificates into my desk drawers. I've watched projects evolve. I've been on more planes than I can count. I'm told I have an impact even if I'm blind to it. They love me, they need me, they'd be lost with out me - or so the story goes depending on who's talking. Life at the Cape has treated me exceptionally well and I cannot imagine being anywhere else, but what have I really done? The things I have to show for myself feel so trivial. I believe I'm capable of more, but I don't know what that is or where to find it.
And then a plot from the past cycles around again that only further induces the desire for flight. I'm developing an even stronger fear that if I don't run now, I'll be trapped forever.
My freedom has always been extremely important to me yet, ironically, the inexplicable bonding I form to people abandons it completely. Even when I should walk away, even when I try, some bizarre sense of loyalty holds me in place. Intentional or not, I sacrifice my own happiness and my own sanity to make sure I haven't abandoned another person. I seem to need permission to release my end of the line. Without it I hold tightly to the rope even at times when it's clear there's nobody on the other side. This particular quality of mine falls farther on the pathetic end of the spectrum than most.
It could be that one of the bumps I foresaw in this year's road is having to let go of the rope first. I have no idea how to do it.
My walk introduced me to a new little pocket for sunset viewing. I sat on a large rock in relative peace watching birds congregate on the glowing water. I wondered if a day would ever come when I'd be able to share the place. Being the one left behind isn't easy, which is probably why I try not to put others in that position. I've let my friends go as they've had to, each one finding something better in the transition. For me the holes are still there. Why on Earth was I even considering creating more?
On the walk back up the causeway I considered last night's dream. I remembered the feeling of the "snow" trying to push me down and bury me, and I remembered the struggle of clawing my way out the top of the pile. Mostly strongly I remembered the remorse and regret when I discovered who had not been able to overcome the avalanche. I felt like their loss had somehow been my failure. When the snow melted there was no sign of their bodies. I convinced myself this absence meant they had somehow survived, but it was made clear to me I was suffering from wishful thinking and had to keep moving on my own. For the remainder of the dream I struggled with accepting the losses and convincing myself I'd done right by those now gone. The parallels between dream and reality weren't too difficult to recognize.
Five years and I was still trying to figure out how to say "good-bye". Five years and my faith, though more directed, was as insecure as ever. Five years and there still seemed no good to direction go in; every answer was wrong because of what it eliminated. The obvious lack of progress was painful.
But at least the walking led somewhere. Once across the causeway the second time I continued on until the road dead-ended at the beach. I walked into Starbucks for a tea and sat on the railing of the walkway watching the ocean and a starry sky. I looked south and considered how many hours I had spent on the sand just a few miles in that very direction. I closed my eyes and listened to the waves wondering if it was possible to hear them from space given the right instrumentation. I observed a young couple cuddling, a group of friends with lawn chairs, and a family of four who had devised some means of communicating with flashing lights. When the time reached 730 I began a slow walk back up 192 to yet another thing I'm struggling to say good-bye to - my aging vehicle.
In everything that played through my head during these hours of wandering I observed a strange sense of calm. Things were hard. Things were frustrating. Things were confusing. But things weren't overwhelming. I was braced for what had to happen. My life was going to change, and this time it was all on me to choose how.
Captured At:2250
January 26, 2009
A Million Hands in Every Success
Our inspection of the bright and expansive room was paused momentarily by the recognition of familiar faces. I shook hands when introduced to two older gentlemen whose names I recognized but who I had never before met. They conversed with my partner in exploration and reminisced about how the entire project began. The last time I had walked the floor it was occupied by construction crews. We now stood marveling at its readiness. Today was a big day.Within months of being moved from my first group (some would say liberated) I was given assignments in 3-D modeling to pass the time. A coworker would hand me a drawing with some basic dimensions and I'd set to making the object "real" inside of whichever software package he chose for that particular exercise. I had something to show for every sketch and screenshot he sent - even the ones I wasn't actually supposed to attempt. They weren't without beginner's errors, but I apparently displayed enough aptitude to spark his curiosity about what I might be capable of.
Not too soon after, he and two of the other guys became buried in a project. The Florida Space Authority (now Space Florida) had taken his video to Lockheed Martin and convinced them that the O&C high bay at Kennedy Space Center was the right place to do final assembly of the new Orion crew capsule they were bidding on. Given the proprietary nature of the work, the NASA team was called upon to create a processing simulation showing how the crew and service modules could move through the building.
Somewhere in all of it - perhaps due to my habit of walking into an office and asking "So what do I do now?" - I was told to help these guys out. Whatever they needed, whatever they asked for, I should do. My usefulness seemed limited, but occasionally I would be handed another picture and told, "I need you to build me something like this..." I would ask questions as appropriate, nod, go back to my computer to fight with Pro-E for a while, and deliver the finished object. I built maybe three or four over the entire process.
Months later the Grumman-Boeing team called on NASA for the same work. My only contribution was giving their liaison, Sarah, a tour of the pad shortly after Atlantis arrived for STS-115. She was expecting to drive out and maybe take a picture; she never imagined we'd actually get out of the car and walk around next to the shuttle. As we turned out of the parking lot afterward she looked at me and said, "You don't do anything half way, do you?" The tone in her voice was priceless and all I could do was laugh. She probably would have moved here if her company won. Part of me hoped they would.
Regardless of which team was chosen, our group had made an undeniable contribution to the future of KSC. Those efforts would bring in exciting new work and ensure that a few more people in the area could have a life after shuttle. I didn't understand at the time, but it was no small thing.
I was also amazed at the work the guys had done. They seemed partial to the Boeing-Grumman video, perhaps because they had more experience the second time around. As for my work, the final rendering of the Lockheed simulation showed one of my cheesy yellow workstands in the first few frames. I laugh every time I see it, but there is no denying the truth that that silly model was part of the proposal Lockheed Martin handed NASA to win the Orion contract. And with that win the revitalization process was set in motion. In nearly 2 years, this:
became this:
Yes, today - the day the building was officially declared complete - was a big day. And to think the first attempt at suggesting such an idea had resulted in the two men I was now conversing with being run out of somebody's office! I guess it just goes to show what conviction and perseverance can do.
Somewhere the spark of memory triggered another perspective in one of my new acquaintances. "And to think, 40 years ago I was standing here as Apollo came through those doors..." I was moved to a sense of wonder and respect for this stranger who took part in the one piece of history I have always wished I had been alive to experience. And then I realized I was experiencing history in that very moment. God willing our agency will get to keep heading back to a place we never should have left.
Our group has been recognized for the work we did to support the Orion contract proposals both by NASA and Brevard County's Economic Development Commission. I have been included in all of it even though I continue to believe my contributions were trivial. I'm told by one of the bosses that I have no idea how much difference I made just by being available. He insists that the stress and panic the guys would bring into his office disappeared once he put me at their disposal. I suppose he's giving credence to the idea that some of the most important things we do aren't seen.
So I suppose it's only natural that when I saw another KSC worker's comment about how great the O&C high bay was and how cool it was to be part of it I got a little angry. To anyone else I'm sure the remark was harmless. To me it seemed like showing off and taking credit where none was appropriate. It would be like me trying to claim I launch space shuttles just because I've been to the VAB.
I know the genesis of what was celebrated today. I watched it come into being. I know where the idea came from. I know who sold it and who pushed for it. I know who proved it was possible.
For those reasons the most important thing I could do today was go back to my office, rouse the guys from behind their computers, and drag them to the back of the building. I wanted to make sure they saw what they helped create. I smiled as those in the know reminisced with them about the conceptual phases. I watched their awe at the changes and the tinges of pride at seeing a vision finally become real A job doesn't get much more satisfying than that.
Captured At:2025
January 31, 2009
The End of the Road
After getting her driver license one of my sister's friends received a Volkswagen Beetle from her parents. It was silver. She named it Lola. These facts are significant only because when I learned of them I decided our car should have a fun name too. "Lola" immediately made me think of a Buffett song, so I borrowed from another one of his characters in dubbing our '96 Altima with a moniker of its own.Desdemona had been my father's mode of transportation for several years before being re-leased for our use. She was a lovely teal 4-door boasting a sunroof, and it is in this vehicle that I learned to drive a manual transmission. As the only other driver in the family, for that first year of the second lease she was all mine. I contributed a small amount to the payment each month. I tracked the mileage knowing I had to cover any costs associated with going over. I paid for gas and regular care.
Unlike those of some of my peers, my parents hadn't just handed me a car. They made sure it came with responsibility. Des also taught me the freedom of an open country road. She showed me the joy of air rushing in every open window and happy music coupled with bad singing pouring out. She endured every stall and she didn't hold it against me when I noticed that deer a few moments too late.
The second year she stayed in New York with my sister as I set out to discover college. I gave little thought to leaving her behind. The third year she joined both of us in Florida and we knew it would be her last. We were advised to start saving for whatever came next.
Our search for the replacement came shortly after we returned home for the summer. My sister and I were now going in different directions, so one car had to become two. Mom or Dad would bring us to dealerships and ride along as we experimented to see what we liked. Then, having driven everything reasonable we could think of, it came time to make a final decision. She had narrowed it down to two, as had I. In the end we picked the same thing.
I remember very little of the buying process. My dad did all of the negotiating. We just waited. But I do remember the afternoon we picked them up. I remember the walk around the vehicle and the instructions I was given on how to work the radio and free myself were I ever to get trapped in the trunk.
And, perhaps most importantly, I remember how cool I felt driving home a brand new car. I couldn't stop grinning as I made the turns out of the dealership and formed a caravan with the rest of my family.
Getting Des cleaned up to go made me a little sad. I remember watching from my bedroom window when they came for her. I'm not sure I ever actually told her good-bye. My shiny new baby was also out that window, and in those last moments as she disappeared I remember exclaiming, "I know! I'll call him Milo!"
With the name came a life of his own. My friends would greet him in the parking lot and every time they did I'd make sure he responded with a beep or flash of his lights. They always referred to him by name, and I'd even occasionally be asked how he was doing. I never understood it, but I enjoyed it just the same.
The slight attachment I had to Des doesn't come anything close to what I have for Milo. He has countless more miles of laugher and music and tears. He has been the one consistent thing in my life for three-quarters of a decade of change and uncertainty, and he, too, bears scars. He may have started out as just a car, but he became more than that. He became an extension of me. He still is.
But not for much longer.
Every time I wake Milo up I look for another extra light or listen for more strange noises. He continues to show evidence of how tired he is. Those warnings are ones I have to heed even if I don't want to, but I can't imagine another car. I can't imagine a jumbled license plate on the back. I can't imagine a different name coming out of my mouth as I climb inside. How could any other feel right when referring to my vehicular counterpart? And nobody will know #2 like they knew Milo. Who will send greetings to make him feel loved?
Finding his successor has already proven to be an unpleasant process. The more I research, the less I feel I know. The more I think about having to deal with the sales people, the more put off by the entire notion I am. I pay extra attention walking through parking lots or driving down the road hoping I see something that jumps out at me. It never happens. Everything looks the same, and everything looks so much bigger than I like.
I had a coworker offer to just do all of it for me. He said to get the loan papers worked out, hand them to him, and he'll bring me my next car. It's tempting, but I can't weasel out of this one. I need to suck it up, be an adult, and get the job done. I wish I knew how.
Part of me knows all of this is stupid. I should be excited about the prospect of something new. I should be thankful that at a time when people barely have enough money to put food on their table my biggest problem is figuring out which new model I'll use to drive my groceries home. But this isn't about a car to me. It's more than that. And until I can undo three-quarters of a decade of programming to become unattached, I just don't see it changing.
Captured At:2036