June 22nd, 2006
Though, truth be told, I carry with me in life very little from my university education, I haven't forgotten it all. And, truth again be told, I reinterpret a lot of what I learned in the context of my own life experiences. I mean, I am not an old man by any stretch of the imagination, but I've seen some things, lived through some events, experienced moments cataclysmic and rich with meaning.
And one thing I carry with me, in altered form, is a particularism about possessions.
Okay, so I can almost hear the literate among my readers (I have dozens right now) crying, "But particularism is political and ideological! You can't just use the word with its literal meaning!"
Well, sure I can. And I just did. And, besides, I am so attached to the things in my life that have stayed with me a long time, that I practically am politically devoted to them. Just ask my wife about it the next time she wants to throw out one of my old shirts. So, when something I have owned and been intimate with for nigh on a decade rather suddenly leaves my life, I wax poetic and wistful about its departure.
I refer to my car, a little white Toyota Corolla, which I have driven since 1997. I took it to a mechanic yesterday, anticipating another repair bill (which are becoming somewhat frequent lately) and was instead told that the problems with my car are about as expensive as the replacement value. That is, why spend $1200 repairing a $1200 car? It won't make it worth $2400, that's for sure ...
And so, saddened, sobered, somewhat solipsistic even, I nursed my little car home, with the dashboard lights all a-flicker in ignored warnings and unheeded cautionary advice, and parked it with a sigh and a gentle pat on its paint-scratched and dented hood. It was time to turn traitor on my faithful friend and consider a new car.
I'd like to point out that this car has never—and I mean never—failed to deliver me to my destination. I have never had to park it and hail a cab or fumble for bus fare at night in a dark parking lot because it failed to start or stay running. I never had those moments of panic when I thought I was going to miss the job interview, the meeting, even just the movie or dinner because of "car problems". And so that is why I call my feelings traitorous: I reward such stalwart reliability by trading it in on a sexier, younger, cuter model with curves younger than most of my old car's dents.
But, there it is: Despite my particularism and despite the faithfulness and hard-working dependability of my little white Toyota Corolla, I am turning my back and selling it down the river for trade-in value on a new car. To put how I feel into allegory:
Goodbye, my long-time loving faithful friend. The Secret Police I sold your name to for $20.00 are at the door to take you away.
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