On cars and acceptance

When in Ithaca...

For those of you who know me well understand that I have a long history of owning crappy cars. In college I had a Ford Taurus (yes, a Ford Taurus, an abomination to the invention of the automobile), and each winter, it would slide down the snowy, Ithacan hills until I'd reach some sort of plateau in the Commons, and I'd thank God that I was alive another winter day. That sucker was begrudgingly by my side until graduation week when I sold it to some shady towny for $650 (I made $100 off of the sale). Upon returning to Santa Cruz, I purchased another gem: a BROWN1990 Honda Accord Station Wagon. The best part was the completely rusted hood. I felt a bit like those people that have serious hoarding issues; those such individuals always seem to drive some sort of floppy station wagon. It wasn't a good fit, and it sort of pathetically petered out one morning on my commute to Watsonville.  Most recently, I have my 1995 Honda Civic, manual transmission. Anyone who knows the Civic understands that it holds its value for a long time, and it's just an all-around solid, reliable vehicle. When I started driving this about two years ago, I was thrilled. It was no Audi, no Prius, but I almost looked like a normal, professional adult. I almost felt kind of cool in my car. This was a whole new experience for me. I could get in and turn on the heat OR the a/c for that matter. The speakers worked if I turned the bass off, and basically, I was on top of the world.

Then one evening after visiting my dear friend, Marisol, in Aptos, my car-lust was no more. As I was in the outside turning lane to get on the freeway at State Park Drive, the man on the inside turn lane decided to go straight, thus ramming straight into the driver's side of my little beauty. Only slightly shaky, (I've been in a major car accident before...)we pulled over at the nearby church and exchanged information. I almost cried looking at the smashed doors on the poor, innocent little body. After he informed me that it was his first day in the country and his GPS told him to go straight rather than turn, I gave him a little hug, and we chuckled about the strange layout of the ol' American roads....er...whatever, I felt bad for the guy.

So my brother and I end up exchanging cars, because as a student, he has a more flexible schedule to get my car fixed for me. I end up driving his equally sorry car--1995 Mazda pick-up truck (the hick brother to the Ford Taurus). As I begin my daily commute to Felton, I realize that it stalls in 2nd and the anti-freeze leaks into the car so that when I turn on the defroster, it smells eerily like maple-syrup flavored Quaker Oatmeal packs.  After a few weeks of driving his truck, I realize that I am frequently congested, and the anti-freeze may be giving me some rare form of lung cancer.

Long story short, my Dad decides it's not worth fixing my Honda, and the $1800 I got for the damage could go to something more practical. So there you have it--I drive the injured Honda to teaching each morning. My co-workers do a double take when I park in the staff lot, wondering if they should scold the student for parking in the lot.

So why have I told you about my complicated past relationships? Well, this morning on my way to work, I lower the visor and notice a little prayer card clipped to it with a binder clip. My dad must have borrowed the car when Nick and I switched cars. Anyway, I usually ignore his little religious icons because he likes to put them everywhere that you might possibly look (glove box, bathroom mirror, pillow, you  name it). When we were little, there was an average of five crucifixes hanging in each room, but that's a whole different topic. So I decide, hey I've got a few minutes, why not read this.

 It is titled "Acceptance," and I realize this is something that is so apt for me, so I pause before walking to class and take a moment to read it:

When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing or situation -- some fact of my life --unacceptable to me. I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing, or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at that moment.


Nothing, absolutely nothing, happens in God's world by mistake. Unless I accept life completely on life's terms, I cannot be happy.


I need to concentrate not so much on what needs to be changed in the world as on what needs to be changed in me and in my attitudes.

As a bit of a control freak, this is something I have struggled with and continue to struggle with on a daily basis. But each day I focus on accepting, or going even further--embracing-- "life on life's terms," I am a little more content than I was the day before.  I understand my students better; I am more grateful for my relationships, and I am a little more forgiving of myself. And suddenly it makes perfect sense why I step into my car each morning.