My beloved aunt always tells me that no matter what car she drives, her ‘soul car’ will always be her old Zen. I never fully understood what she meant till I drove my present car for a few years.
We've been together for almost five years now, and I'm completely in love with my car. I feel cocooned and safe whenever I sit in it. The seat feels like a hug, my legs reach the clutch and brake at the most comfortable angle, the AC cools to a temperature that suits me, the music system plays just how I like it and it cruises along most responsively. Even the horn is to my liking - not too loud and not too soft but enough to send a cyclist scurrying out of my way. My car knows what to do to make my drive better.
Imagine then, my remorse when someone drives her badly (it’s definitely a ‘her’), or if she gets a scratch, or worse, a dent. My heart breaks. Forget fighting with whoever damaged her, I’m just feeling awful that she’s in pain. I even apologize when hitting speed-bumps. No one is allowed to eat or drink when seated lest her cream-coloured seats get stained - I see how this could also be because I'm a neat freak, but anyway . . .
I think cars respond to their drivers, and as completely unscientific as it sounds, they understand when someone cares for them. How else do you explain cars with everything in perfect working condition refusing to start for a stranger (who happens to be a rash driver)? Or an old car that goes the extra mile without any petrol? It’s not magic and it has happened.
I’ve not always felt this strongly about my cars. In fact, I have never felt like this about a car. If I sound crazy, maybe you just haven’t found your soul car yet? When you do finally drive it, you’ll just know, and perhaps my inane ramblings will make sense.