Cinderella Story
“You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone”, Tom Keifer once confided in me. It’s kind of a catchy nonsensical line that’s easy to remember and fun to sing in a raspy voice; that is, until one day when your heart breaks and you truly get it for the first time.
At that moment you realize two things. First, of course, you realize how much “whatever you had that is now gone” actually meant to you. And second; you realize exactly how 1980s rock legend Cinderella was able to produced more greatest hits albums than they did actual albums (this is true). Pure genius. And good for them, anyone who can so precisely distill the essence of our human romantic condition deserves to get paid.
Although the song offers little in the way of how to course correct from here, it does give the listener a spot of hope. The comfort is in knowing that at least one other person has felt similar to the way they do right now. And this is at least somewhat helpful as misery does not so much love company per se, but rather misery loves empathy. So Mr. Keifer, I hereby acknowledged your grasp on the sentiment of remorseful absence, but would you not acknowledge that the contrary can be even more terrifying?
“I don’t let people eat in my car” Derek belatedly announced as we left the gas station. Was he serious? Was I going to have to eat this recently purchased tasty Italian sandwich right here in the parking lot? Actually, yes. That is just what we did. We stood looking at his sort-of-still-new Toyota Camry, filling our stomachs with dreams of sitting down soon and not being hungry anymore. Talk about an awkward few minutes.
I’m proud to say that I was able to eat the entire sandwich without getting tomatoes and oil all over the place, as Derek had no doubt envisioned I might. In a phenomenal triumph of manual dexterity, the food went from my hand to my mouth- every single time. This was not the worst meal I’ve ever had, but it was close (author’s note: the worst meal I ever had was also purchased at a gas station).
Not eating in your car is what happens when you know what you’ve got before it’s gone. Derek loved his car. Not only did he avoid using the back seat as a depository for recyclables (an early warning sign that you or someone you love may have an unhealthy obsession with their car) he also didn’t drive it in the rain, park it on the street, or flip the keys to any pimple faced valets. Oh, and you can bet that it rarely went to Massachusetts.
Derek, you fell in love with your car and reduced it to near uselessness. Now, I know it’s not every day that you need to drive your car in the rain to Massachusetts in order to eat at some fancy restaurant where you’ll certainly have to chose between valet or street parking, but I think we can all agree that Derek has limited his options by choosing to recognize what he’s got before it’s gone. Attachment to material possessions is poison for the soul (at least that’s what I read on www.aboutbuddha.org).
Stories of folks like Derek are common. Everyone knows someone who treats their car a little too gingerly. Finding people who are obsessed with their cars is easy. Look for the people who park in the spots furthest away from the building (they do this in order to reduce their risk of parking next to someone, and having that someone open the door and dent their car). Look for the people who purchase products like “Armor All Wipes” in bulk. Look for the people who have their car’s brand emblazoned on their back windshield (just so you know it’s a Dodge). If all else fails, rent a copy of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and ask your suspect if they didn’t think Cameron was a little hard on his dad.
If after looking high and low, you are unable to find anyone with an unhealthy obsession with their car, chances are, it’s you. Not to worry though, unlike the rock and roll gods Cinderella, who left us hanging on for a solution, I’m give you the answer to this conundrum. No, I’m not going to recommend that you key your own car for the sake of freedom, or begin doing your own repairs using just chicken wire and a hammer. And while I admit that I am addressing problems with a piece of duct tape in more than one spot on my own car, I know that I am probably on the other end of this spectrum; and I think a healthy balance can be struck.
The solution is conscious transference. Figure out what is really important in life, take the feelings you have for your car, and apply them there. Otherwise, you may wake up one day to find yourself with a debt to Tom Keifer.