So… I sold my car two days ago.
Just like that—keys handed over, title signed, and poof—one more piece of my old life officially in the rearview. (No pun intended. Okay, maybe a little.)
I thought it might feel like a big deal. A loss. A “wow, this is really happening” kind of moment. But honestly? It just felt like closure. Like one more step in the direction of the life I’m choosing now, not the one I thought I had to hold onto.
The truth is, I stopped driving over a year ago.
Between my health (hello, hyperadrenergic POTS) and my lifelong anxiety behind the wheel, driving just never felt… safe. Or comfortable. Or enjoyable. I used to white-knuckle the steering wheel like I was on a rollercoaster I didn’t sign up for. Deep breaths, sweaty palms, second-guessing every turn—it was exhausting.
So when my condition started flaring more often, I made the call: No more driving. And now? With the car officially gone, it’s like my life finally caught up to the decision I’d already made in my heart.
Here’s the surprising part, though—I don’t feel stuck.
People assume that not driving means losing your freedom, especially at this stage of life. But in reality, it’s just made me more aware of what I actually need. I’m a homebody through and through. I love my cozy space. I love my garden, my backyard oasis, and my dogs snoozing at my feet. I don’t want to be constantly on the go. My soul craves stillness—and now, I have it.
When I do need to go somewhere? Oscar drives. Or I’ll hop in an Uber. Whether it’s a grocery run, a doctor’s appointment, or one of those “I just need to get out of the house and look at a Target for an hour” moods, I still go where I need to go. I’ve just let go of the pressure to do it all myself. And honestly? That’s kind of the theme of this chapter in my life.
Letting go of pressure.
Letting go of guilt.
Letting go of the things I never actually enjoyed but kept doing because I felt like I was supposed to.
These days, my freedom looks different.
It’s choosing peace over pressure.
It’s blasting music in the kitchen instead of the car.
It’s spending more time barefoot in the backyard than stuck in traffic.
I may not drive anymore, but I’m more in the driver’s seat of my life than I’ve ever been.
So no, I don’t have a car.
But what I do have?
Peace.
Presence.
And a whole new way of moving through life on my terms.
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