There’s something oddly enjoyable about cruising around in a bona fide clunker. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen too many films. When I’m behind the wheel of my 1988 Oldsmobile Cutlass that set me back a mere $500, I feel like I’m tapping into my inner slacker. If the Dude had a rug that truly tied the room together, my car is the most genuine thing in my life — it holds everything together.
Driving a clunker comes with zero expectations. If there are any, they probably revolve around the assumption that your life is a bit of a mess. I know that when I drive past my childhood friend’s mom, she looks at my car and thinks my life is in shambles. Frankly, if I saw someone else in my car, I’d think the same thing.
And sure, my life has had its share of ups and downs, but that’s not quite the point — it kind of is, though. You can have a life that’s gone off the rails in various ways and still find a way to embrace the chaos. On those particularly good days, it feels like I’m living in a quirky indie film that just didn’t make it to the big screen but has a devoted following. That’s the vibe I’m riding.
Now, when I pull into my kid’s school, I’ve ditched the pretense of polished appearances, and I’m just the guy with the clunker, like Uncle Buck — a Ph.D. in hard knocks, my car serving as a badge of honor for navigating life’s hurdles.
They don’t manufacture cars like mine anymore. Who wants to drive something with bench seats, ashtrays, and a turn radius that feels like navigating a cruise ship? We’re drawn to shiny new things, health, and curated lives. Been there, done that. I’m happier in my clunker.
I don’t have to pretend to be anything other than who I am, and that’s liberating. As I roll into my driveway, with one donut tire and three hubcap-less wheels, I’m greeted by a “DEEZ NUTS” mural on the wall behind my house, welcoming me like a modern-day Gatsby who’s keeping it real — even my literary allusions have a sense of humor about my current situation.
Passing for something you’re not is exhausting. I may drive a clunky car and have “DEEZ NUTZ” as my greeting, but I’m in the best shape of my life — not physically, mind you. I can’t even bend over without gasping for air, and my last treadmill session made me feel like I was in a medical horror movie. Yet, I’m living life. I’m lounging on a couch that seems like it belongs in a death metal band’s green room, with my smartphone plugged into outdated tech, feeling as relaxed as a classic Earth, Wind & Fire jam.
My favorite comedian, Max Reynolds, once said, “I don’t have much respect for those who lack the guts to let their lives spiral out of control for a while.” Well, buddy, I’m deep in that spiral. Not entirely, but three years ago, I was a mess, crying in bed, feeling sorry for myself because my childhood was less than stellar. Now, I’m slowly climbing out of that hole, taking baby steps like I’m in What About Bob?
When you lose control, appearances fall by the wayside. If you gain a few pounds, you just buy a bigger size. At the doctor’s office, you own your body at its largest, saying, “Here I am, judge me,” and then it’s all about getting through the awkward moments. I’ve ditched the bra and shoes since I work from home, and anything within a mile is considered the “cafeteria.”
This kind of raw honesty is refreshing. It’s the kind of truth that’s riding on a donut tire until my 1988 Oldsmobile can’t take it anymore. It’s all about embracing the ride, just like The Dude with some classic Creedence tunes. It’s pure, electric joy.
Some people climb mountains to achieve their goals, while the rest of us are just trying to claw our way out of the holes we didn’t dig. Either way, it’s all worth it. Solidarity.
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In summary, embracing life’s imperfections can lead to unexpected joy. Whether you’re navigating clunky vehicles or personal challenges, finding humor in the chaos can be liberating.