I hate my car... until I have to get rid of it.

For some reason, I've been feeling strangely attached to my car this week.

This probably sounds pretty normal, except that all I do is bitch about my car. Like, all of the time. But like pretty much everything else, I never feel more attached to something until I have to get rid of it. Actually, I've come to learn that the more I complain about something, the more I probably care about it, otherwise I wouldn't waste the time. So for part one of this next series of "Holy shit I'm moving to Boston and I have no idea why I decided to do that or what I'm going to do when I get there" posts, here are five reasons I've secretly loved my car this whole time and why I'll be sad to give it to my grandparents.

1. My car is my only big, independent purchase. 

I mean, okay, I had a tiny bit of help, but I was the primary purchaser. I bought my Chevy Malibu in 2010, and at first I wasn't too sure about it. I spent one day car shopping with my parents, only to end up buying from Century III Chevrolet in West Mifflin -- which, for anyone considering a car purchase, is the absolute worst car dealership of all time. It had 76,000 miles on it. It used to be a rental car. It had old people magnifying glasses on the window and stains on the back upholstery.

But it also had power locks and windows, a ton of trunk space, and, most importantly, it moved. I was 20 when I bought it, the first thing I ever bought that mattered. Over time, I started to forget what that felt like, but now I'm back at square one. I own nothing again. It's kind of a weird feeling.

2. I'm an emotional driver. 


This is probably... no, this is definitely a terrible thing. But I've spent my entire life learning how to not be emotional in public, and cars have always felt like a safe, private space to me. Ever since I was little, if I could sleep nowhere else, I could sleep in a car. The same goes with feelings.

When I was 21 and going through probably the first really tangible emotional crisis I'd ever been through, during the summer when I was staying at home with my parents and sometimes felt like I had nowhere to go and just deal with it for a minute, I discovered the advantages of a good car cry. I've been a terrible cliche. I have cried in my car, in the rain, in a Giant Eagle parking lot. I do the majority of my crying in cars. Not only can few people really see you, but no one is looking. 


When I get really anxious or angry, I like to just go on a good long drive. Sometimes I wonder if the TSA keeps an eye out for me, after all of the random passes through the airport I've made. I'm going to have to find a new place to hide my emotional crises.

3. I have a car personality. 


Behind the wheel, I am a badass. This is not to say I'm an aggressive driver (not outright, anyway), but the more assertive parts of my personality come out when I'm driving.

Outside of the car, I keep insults to under-the-breath-murmurs. I don't yell at people unless seriously provoked, and then I feel guilty about it forever.

In the car, I flip people off and yell things like "Yeah, your mother, bitch" with the windows down. I'm not saying it's great. I'm just saying I'm going to miss my car personality.

4. I won't be able to sing anymore. 


I only sing in the car. I'm a horrible singer, but, when considering the "safe space" a car becomes for me, I am free to belt it out at ear-splitting, note-murdering volume with no one around to hear me.

I refuse to inflict this suffering on other people. In fact, the mere presence of other people hinders my physical ability to hit notes at any volume above a whisper. This is a blessing. But I'm going to miss singing all the same.

5. There are places I genuinely won't be able to get to. 


I am not a person who goes on adventures alone, typically. I don't need to go on adventures alone in Pittsburgh. I automatically come with the "I'm from here, why would I go there/do that" excuse, so I've never had to really push myself. But every once in awhile, I just want to drive out to the middle of nowhere for the sake of it.

That, actually, is probably what I'll miss the most. The slightly cliche freedom that comes with having a car. I'll have one again at some point. Maybe in a year, maybe in five years. But whenever I do get one, I know this: I'm going to feel like I'm sixteen all over again.