I used to be a Volkswagen. 2 door, heated seats, manual transmission with a sunroof that was always open. My hair was long, not only on my head but my legs and armpits rarely saw the likes of a razor. My mind was sharp and my fingertips smelled like my last cigarette. My eyes held a sadness, but were overwhelmed with hope of the “bright side.” I tolerated. I smiled. I told you my opinion even if you didn’t want to hear it. My music was loud and my heartbeat was always racing. I yelled “I Love Yous” to anyone who’d listen. Dante was my path and Dostoevsky my wisdom. I was real, but also a glimmer of a cartoon character I created from pieces of novels and film.

Now I am a RAV 4. Still foreign, yet no longer German designed. 4 doors, automatic transmission, 2 car seats, cloth interior with a random cassette player I still question the existence of in a car manufactured after 1987. My corporate coffee is a perpetual statement in the cup holder. My hair is short, my muscles more toned and fingertips have a lingering scent of a glue stick. M. Stewart is my hero and birchbox my truth. I speak in a firm tone although my words often fall on deaf ears. My smile is genuine and my shoes are overpriced.

My heart is content. (thank you, Voltaire) My journey to this destination has been long and winding. (thank you, Paul.) I think I am ready to be a Ford because I am certain that holds the next level of an uncharted path of adventure.