Wabi-Sabi

I haven’t slept well all week. I don’t know why I have so much anxiety about this. It’s just a car, as Eliot keeps telling me. But it’s a lot of money. And I don’t do so well with decisions. I always need to make the best decision, so I tend to second-guess myself, which drives everyone around me, including myself, crazy. I told Eliot it feels like an arranged marriage. Suddenly, I’m going to have this relationship with a total stranger. He reminded me that I chose it, so it’s actually nothing like an arranged marriage. Anyway, I picked up the car this morning. I like it. I really do. It’s such a beautiful color, a deep blue that sparkles in the sunshine. I’m so sick of silver, which always looked gray. Last night, while cleaning out the Jetta, I realized how old and dirty it was. Even when it was clean, it was dirty.

After the guy explained all the buttons on the dashboard and everything, he asked if we had any questions. Astrid asked, “What’s going to happen to Bessie?” He said, “She’s going to another family that’s going to be really good to her.” I was feeling a little emotional—after all, I’ve had Bessie for 12 years—but was fine until Eliot said to Astrid, “that’s the car we brought you home from the hospital in.” Good Lord! It’s just a car, my ass.

Driving home, I felt happy. It was so bright and shiny. It was perfect. I parked in our parking garage, as far away from other cars as possible. We went home and had lunch, then I had to get to work. On the way, I’m driving, shifting smoothly, listening to the Car Wash soundtrack on my bluetooth, when I notice a tiny speck on the windshield. Huh. What’s that? Water from when the guy showed us the wipers? Bird poop? It couldn’t be a crack. Definitely not a crack. It’s a brand new car! Couldn’t be a crack. I get to work and get out and look. It’s a crack. WTF? Did that really happen ON THE WAY HOME FROM THE DEALER? ON THE FIRST DAY? Can’t I have something be perfect for ONE day? My life sucks. Why does this stuff happen to me? I debate calling the dealer, but what can I say? By the end of the day, I’m feeling more philosophical. It’s kind of like a birthmark. Astrid’s been saying lately that she wants her “dots” removed, but without her three lovely birthmarks, it wouldn’t be her same beautiful face.