Losing Yourself
What does it mean when the thing that made you "you" is lost?
Over the weekend, I bought my first car! It’s a very exciting ordeal because this was long overdue for me. Since the death of Beamer, my 2006 BMW 325i, a part of me felt lost when I wasn’t able to have a car. I know what it sounds like. Very “Americacore” as my friend Emily puts it. Being so car-dependent that I’m emotionally attached to it. Something straight out of the movies. Though I knew in my heart that I needed a car.
To many teens and young adults in suburban America, having your own car and drivers license is a rite of passage. It’s a sign of trust from your parents that you are capable of being on your own. Having the license was more than enough for some people. Being given the keys to the family car to go hang out with your friends was a big deal. Then having your own car made you your own adult.
I know that a drivers’ license and a car isn’t the “end-all-be-all” that I once thought it was. When I went off to college and made do with my situation of being car-less, I was more than capable of being able to navigate on my own. If anything, it taught me to manage my own time better by considering commute times and bus schedules. But to be able to define where and when I can go is so freeing.
This probably isn’t what my dad thinks, however. A few weeks ago he received knee surgery and has pretty much been unable to walk on his own. He’s gotten better, but it’s not to the point that he’s able to make his own food and whatnot. It’s hard for him to support his weight on one leg, something I’m able to do. And so when he found out that I bought the car, I could feel that there was a part of him that wished he was there when I signed the papers.
The last couple of days has been him reminding me about insurance, my registration, and cleaning my car. As of writing, I spent all afternoon and evening yesterday washing and cleaning all of the cars at the house. I knew he was trying to instill the habit in me, even long before telling me that’s what he was doing. I could tell that he wanted to fix my mistakes.
He was also speed-buying as many accessories as he could off Amazon before I went off to Ithaca. I was going to get them myself, but I did appreciate he was doing them all for me. That’s when it clicked for me. Cars were part of my dad’s identity, a man who could have only dreamed of having the life he did today.
That’s the interesting thing about losing yourself. You are still physically in the realm, but the mental spirit gets taken away when it happens. I don’t think you lose yourself on your own. Someone or something took it away from you. And that’s what happened when my dad went on his leg surgery.
I’ll forever be grateful for what my family has done for me here. Let’s hope that I don’t lose myself without them.
