A touch of curb

It’s one of the most terrible sounds in the world: the wheel-rim of a car grinding on a sidewalk curb. Try as you may to be careful during parallel parking maneuvers, it only takes one moment of carelessness to ruin an otherwise perfect wheel. The feeling in the driver seat, the dread of getting out of the car to check damage, is uniquely dreadful to a car enthusiast. 

We suffer greatly when we put too much value to things material. 

It used to be that something as benign as curbing a wheel would absolutely ruin my day, though perhaps I am improving. Last Friday I had the unfortunate tragedy of tagging the M2’s right-front wheel on the curb as I was pulling off to the side to park. Thankfully, the damage isn’t too awful, but I just couldn’t help to bash myself with my own stupidity. Reality seems to always bite soon as you get too comfortable and complacent. 

I quickly forgot about the transgression, however. I was on my weekly visit to see my friend’s kids. I owe it to them to give my undivided attention. Stewing over the mistake of curbing the wheel serves no purpose other than feeling bad for myself and showing a negative vibe to the kids. I was somewhat surprised then that I was indeed able to put the wheel damage behind me and devote fully to playing with the little ones. 

I’ve come a long way from the intense obsessive compulsiveness vis a vis my cars that I used to have. Maybe if the actual damage was worse, I wouldn’t have been able to forget it so quickly. Either way, I’m glad I didn’t stress about something that I cannot turn back the clock to change. 

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Well, it can’t stay perfect forever.

The waiting game is hard

Continuing with the story from yesterday, I had to order a small part to fix up the Porsche. Problem is, the particular piece of plastic is a special order item, which in combination with the Presidents Day holiday yesterday means I will have to wait a relatively long time the part to arrive at my doorstep (and hopefully not stolen). The extended wait is long and agonizing because I want nothing more than to repair the 911 as quickly as possible, however cosmetic and superficial the damage may be (thank god for that).

For better and worse, that’s just how my mind functions: any task worth doing, I’d like to get it done swiftly. I can remember back in my teens of forgoing meals and sleep on numerous occasions because the home-built PC was malfunctioning and I simply could not mentally bare doing anything else until the fix is finished. No surprised then I moved away from PCs later on in life and migrated over to Apple’s Macintosh. With Apple, at least I can go to sleep, knowing there’s nothing I can do about my broken Mac until my appointment at the Apple Store.

Not to say the waiting game isn’t anxiety-filled: the mind starts going through worse-case scenarios when the outcome of a job is unknown. It’s why I try to speed up the process as much as I can, to silence those voices in my head (Randy Orton theme song plays). Indeed, I could have paid for expedited shipping for the Porsche part, but the need to alleviate my anxiety was outmatched by my spending sensibilities. Instead, I’ll deal with the ambiguity that comes with the wait, difficult as it sometimes can be.

So I preoccupy myself with other tasks, which probably isn’t the best thing to do because the underlying problem is still there, but at some point you have to keep moving forward. Unlike Amazon Prime one-day shipping, life doesn’t acquiesce to your just-in-time wants quite so easily. Processes takes time; and even though I crave the calm that comes after a task is done, there will be others to come, and the anxiety renews again. I have to learn to be calm while things are in-flux, which as always, is a work in progress.

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Family games.

Damn it, why can't I just drive?

I am indeed that person who implores people to drive their cars, that vehicles aren’t meant to be permanently stored in climate-controlled garages, that superficial blemishes give character to a car (those sweet patina points), and it’s okay for it to not be as perfect as the day it rolled out of the factory.

I am also the person who is supremely obsessive compulsive about keeping a car as perfect as possible, and the two diametrically opposed ethos create quite the friction point for me. There’s not a lot I love more than taking the GT3 out on a long drive: music on to accompany the melodic rumble of the engine, and with no particular destination in mind. But, as soon as a set of loose pebbles get pelted onto the windshield, creating fresh pockmarks, that’s when the agony begins.

So much for putting miles on cars and embracing the patina. Given the opportunity and resources I’d totally park a car forever in a my living room and polish it with the finest baby diapers and extra virgin tears.

Admittedly my car OCD was immensely worse back a few years; these days I’m much more accepting of flaws and scars from normal wear and tear (or self inflicted extracurricular wear and tear). I’d thought buying a used car would alleviate some of the compulsions, given the car is innately imperfect, and the first few cuts (if you will) have already been done. Contrast that to the brand new vehicles I’ve purchased, where it was an utter mental drain to pay attention to each and every weird sound, and thinking the worse of it. That pothole I ran over? The car is ruined!

Turns out I’m equally obsessive with a used car, and worse, I’m being OCD about blemishes that weren’t even my fault! Isn’t that just the most pathetic: I’m letting things done to the car by the previous owners bother me. He put a scratch on the steering wheel leather - that bastard!

Obviously I’ve been fighting myself to not be so caught up with the GT3’s imperfections, whether or not they were caused by me. As long as the car remains clean and mechanically sound, that is all I can and should ask for. The GT3 is a driver, not a museum art piece; though the process to be completely at peace with that notion is going to take some time. The work continues.

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Spring bloom in full effect.