Subaru and a Family Reunion

Renting a car is an unusual pleasure. You get to pretend to be someone else for a little while. You are the person who would buy this sporty little speedster as opposed to the practical minivan you drive around. You are the wealthy person with only 400 miles on your car, as opposed to 140,000 miles your real car has traversed. Perhaps I should quit writing in the second person when it’s really me I’m talking about. I thoroughly enjoy this temporary gratification. Or rather, I did.

This past week, my husband Curtis and I traveled to a family reunion on the Olympic Peninsula of Washington. Twenty-two family members shared an old Coast Artillery barracks with bad plumbing, aged carpets, and a stunning view of the ocean. It couldn’t have been better. I could have participated in this event pretending to be something I’m not, a real temptation when faced with such an event. But something wouldn’t have fit. Instead, I found myself living among family I know well, and those I haven’t seen in years, feeling comfortable in my skin. It would be fun to be different, but I didn’t need to be. I was accepted as the person I am, however unstylish or worn out. This brings me back to the Subaru.

During our time in Washington, we drove a 2006 Subaru Legacy. I got into this car, ready to adopt a new persona, a different attitude, a "new car" life. But something didn’t fit. Literally. No matter what way I adjusted the seat or the steering wheel, the car was ridiculously uncomfortable. I couldn’t even get out of it without groaning. (Review moment: don’t ever buy this car. :) )

I’ve given up on wanting to be something I’m not. On the inside, I was comfortable with my family, makeupless and real, and now that I’m back in my 1998 Ford Windstar, with its dents and noises and 140,000 miles, my outside is comfortable too.