I have a car. It’s old. It’s not a Ferrari. Not a G-Wagen. Just a hatchback. Manual transmission. No touchscreen. No drama. It works. It’s mine. I know how it feels. I know what it needs. It doesn’t ask for much. We’re a team.
People ask, “Why don’t you get a new car?” I laugh. Why? This one is reliable. It doesn’t break down. It doesn’t surprise me. I like that. A car that surprises you isn’t a car. It’s a problem.
Now, about relationships. I don’t have one. But I have connections. They’re like sports cars. Sleek. Powerful. Built for one thing. Speed, maybe. Or climbing mountains. They do their job, and they do it well. No complaints. But they’re not everyday cars. You don’t drive a Ferrari to the grocery store.
Connections are fun. Intense. Specialized. Predictable in their own way. I like that. I don’t do unpredictability. Fragility. High maintenance. Life’s too short for broken engines or broken trust.
Still, I wonder. Maybe I could use an everyday car in my personal life. Something versatile. Dependable. Comfortable. A car that doesn’t ask, “Where are we going?” but says, “Let’s go.”
But then again, I look at my hatchback. It’s mine. It’s steady. It gets me where I need to go. Why change?
Relationships, though. They’re tricky. Some people are Ferraris. Fast and thrilling. Others are SUVs. Solid. All-terrain. Ready for anything. But me? I’m still figuring it out.
Could I want a relationship? Maybe. Could I just be joking? Also, maybe. Don’t take it too seriously. Or do. Your choice.
For now, I drive my hatchback. And I drive my life. Both get me where I need to be.