One Lesson My Old Truck Taught Me

Picture taken by Christina Heaston Photography

Picture taken by Christina Heaston Photography

Last week I drove my 1998 Ford Ranger (a little beater baby truck) from Nashville to Minnesota with my younger brother, Levi. I got my truck, who was later named Trevor, from my parents for my 18th birthday and he’s been with me ever since. I had never pictured myself in a truck, much less a beat up one that had pretty much been pieced together by other vehicles. But it didn’t take long for me to fall in love with Trevor. I grew to love the fact that I could get dirt and sand all over him and that that was okay. I even loved that he didn’t have air conditioning because that meant I was forced to drive with my windows down even when I had passengers that weren’t crazy about windblown hair. 

Before I get any further, I want you to know that I realize it’s sort of pathetic how much I love Trevor. I realize I’m a little attached. But I’m still going to try to relate this all to something that has to do with a lot more than a truck. Promise:)

I’m now 22 and have been preparing myself to move onto a new vehicle. Trevor has not always been the most reliable truck and I’m not sure how many miles he has left in him (hopefully a few though because now my dad is using him back at our farm). So in hopes that I can avoid getting stranded on my own in Nashville some day, I got a new vehicle while I was back in Minnesota this past week. I got a Jeep Wrangler, which is a wonderful upgrade, despite how attached I am to Trevor.

There’s something about the old things in your life that often feel like home. And it’s always hard, at least for me, to say goodbye to those things. But there still is a point when it’s best to move on from what’s comfortable. For me, that was my truck. It’s probably smart to avoid the helpless/unsafe situations that could’ve come from me trying to hang onto it forever. Obviously it wouldn’t have been the end of the world in any way if I would’ve driven my truck till it died. But for a few reasons, it was just smart for me to move on. I think that sometimes the comfortable thing looks like the place that you’ve been living, a relationship, a job, a label you’ve put on yourself, etc. 

I often hold onto objects/places/things that have memories attached just because I’m scared I’ll forget about the good times attached and because I don’t know if my life will look different if those memories disappear. I think that’s okay because that’s part of how I was made. But I also need to remember that sometimes it’s okay to let go of things and try something new. 

I could come up with a bunch of random things that I’ve learned from my truck just because I have a gift (for better or worse) of reading into certain things way too much to come up with all the different things it could be telling me. But with all these words I guess I’m just saying this: I’m learning that a lot of times you just have to say goodbye to the old before you see the upgrade right around the corner.