Short blog posts, journal entries, and random thoughts. Topics include a mix of personal and the world at large. 

Damn it, why can't I just drive?

I am indeed that person who implores people to drive their cars, that vehicles aren’t meant to be permanently stored in climate-controlled garages, that superficial blemishes give character to a car (those sweet patina points), and it’s okay for it to not be as perfect as the day it rolled out of the factory.

I am also the person who is supremely obsessive compulsive about keeping a car as perfect as possible, and the two diametrically opposed ethos create quite the friction point for me. There’s not a lot I love more than taking the GT3 out on a long drive: music on to accompany the melodic rumble of the engine, and with no particular destination in mind. But, as soon as a set of loose pebbles get pelted onto the windshield, creating fresh pockmarks, that’s when the agony begins.

So much for putting miles on cars and embracing the patina. Given the opportunity and resources I’d totally park a car forever in a my living room and polish it with the finest baby diapers and extra virgin tears.

Admittedly my car OCD was immensely worse back a few years; these days I’m much more accepting of flaws and scars from normal wear and tear (or self inflicted extracurricular wear and tear). I’d thought buying a used car would alleviate some of the compulsions, given the car is innately imperfect, and the first few cuts (if you will) have already been done. Contrast that to the brand new vehicles I’ve purchased, where it was an utter mental drain to pay attention to each and every weird sound, and thinking the worse of it. That pothole I ran over? The car is ruined!

Turns out I’m equally obsessive with a used car, and worse, I’m being OCD about blemishes that weren’t even my fault! Isn’t that just the most pathetic: I’m letting things done to the car by the previous owners bother me. He put a scratch on the steering wheel leather - that bastard!

Obviously I’ve been fighting myself to not be so caught up with the GT3’s imperfections, whether or not they were caused by me. As long as the car remains clean and mechanically sound, that is all I can and should ask for. The GT3 is a driver, not a museum art piece; though the process to be completely at peace with that notion is going to take some time. The work continues.

Spring bloom in full effect.