Tuesday, January 26, 2016

1990 Ford Taurus




I have a large handful of faults. I’m willing to admit that. In fact, one of my largest faults is that I’m a perfectionist. Maybe that is why I am willing to admit that I have faults, because they are constantly in the forefront of my mind.

Have you ever had a really old car? My first car was a 1990 Ford Taurus, like the one pictured above, except it was brown. Every time you close the door and the engine starts you breathe a sigh of relief. But, that’s only the beginning. If the radio still works, you turn it up loud enough that you can’t hear the noises that are probably the car’s death cries. Every time you make it to your destination you are thankful. Every time you let a friend borrow it you wish you had gotten around to writing that list of “Delightful Quirks” that anyone left alone with your car should know about.

          1. The automatic release for the gas door is broken. So, if you need gas you have to open the trunk and manually flip the switch that opens the gas door.
          2. It always shudders and feels like its going to stall when you shift into 3rd. That’s normal. Well, that’s our new normal.
          3. As soon as it looks like it might rain, turn on the windshield wipers. The motor to start them takes about 10 minutes to warm up.

What a pain. But, man, when that car dies (I mean finally dies, like – this time you know) it's really sad! You don’t form a bond with a brand new car. Brand new cars are perfect - and so they're hard to become attached to. Isn't that strange? Even though they are exactly what we think we wanted, we can't love that - we can only love the car that makes us work for it, it's endearing. There is nothing endearing about turning on the heat and having heat. You know what is endearing? Having to get the needle-nose pliers out of the glovebox and manually turn the heat knob, that’s endearing.

That perfect car? That’s not real it's just a state. In a couple years that perfect car will start to be less and less perfect, and in 10 years it will be broke down and worn out. And you'll love it.

We think we want perfect in other people. But perfect isn’t real, its just a stage. You know what we really want, I think? Reliability. We don’t need other people to be perfect, we just need them to be there and to do their best.

And so, I’m really really wanting to let go of this perfectionism. I don’t want to let my delightful quirks - those things that I actually need to work on - to grow worse. I want to become a better person. But I don’t want to be perfect. I just want people to know that even though I have flaws and even though I leak oil like crazy, I love them and that I’m there for them. I don't want to be a brand new car, all shiny and new. I want to be that beloved old jalopy that leaks oil everywhere it goes, the kind where you have to throw cardboard down every time you park. 

"David? Yeah, he'll get you there. You're gonna have to stop for oil more than once, make sure you bring blankets since the heat is out, and remember he’s a bit cranky in his old age, but yeah, he'll get you there."

That'd be great.