An Ode to My Old Self
This year has been a financial bust. For reasons too lengthy to explain, my annual pay was reduced by $25,000. When you’re single and living in my neck of the woods, that’s a hard landing. So, in 2025, I find myself shopping at Aldi again, dipping into my savings (yes, I know, it’s what they’re for—but I still hate it), and working triple time. The work doesn’t slow, even if the money does. Hurricane Helene destroyed the landscapes, and now we’re rebuilding them.
How am I weathering this financial setback, you ask?
Sadly, by trading in the new car.
Yep. Crawling back to the dealership, head down, keys held out in my age-spotted hand, saying, “I wore the new off, and now I need a cheaper one.” Listen—I splurged. I bought a brand-new Subaru Crosstrek with leather seats.
Before you get all judgey about my splurge in the face of what I now recognize as career uncertainty, in my defense, it was an old-person splurge—safety features. I didn’t indulge in fancy tires or tinted windows. I blew my cash on lane assist, pre-collision braking, and adaptive cruise control. Who knew that keeping a car between the lines would be so challenging with age? No one mentioned that. All anyone talks about is creaky knees, aching backs, and trouble sleeping.
Subaru hangs its hat on safety features. They call it Eyesight Driver Assist Technology (a name clearly marketed to my age group), and the fact that I know that tells you how excited I was to buy my brand-new, Asheville car (it’s the cool “mountain” car here). I looked forward to cruise control that slowed down and sped up on its own like a co-pilot with good instincts. I treated it as a rite of passage: older people buy new cars with comfort features because they’re told, “It’ll be the last one you buy.” Or some such nonsense.
See, I’m missing out on getting old.
As my friends retire and downsize, I’m still up and out the door by 7 a.m., commuting an hour, home by 7 p.m., only to crash and do it all again the next day. Retirement isn’t an option (another long story). I feel like I’ve missed the transition. I actually do want to plan European vacations I’m not interested in. I want to make a bucket list I’ll never complete. I want to tackle “saved-up projects” around the house, pretend I’ll start exercising again, and stroll to the farmers’ market on Saturdays.
I want to slide into my 70s a little sleepy, allowing days to wash over me—maybe do some evening walks and 1,000-piece puzzles of exotic places and dogs. Instead, I’m hustling like a 40-year-old at 66, and like most 40-year-olds, I see no end in sight.
That Subaru was my ode to my old self. If I sell it for some sporty little Hyundai, I fear I’ll be trying on bikinis next.
Reactions to my situation have been mixed. Friends try to put a positive spin on it. They recite statistics about people retiring and dying within eight years. Or one year. Or next week. “Your life still counts for something,” they say—while quietly wondering if theirs does. Does it? I wonder. Or am I just staying too long after everyone else has left the party?
My favorite car ever was my 2013 Jeep Patriot.
It was my divorce car. My youngest had wrecked my Mitsubishi SUV just weeks before the divorce. The ex—frustrated to say the least—bought me the Jeep Patriot, which turned out to be the best year for them. I loved that car. No luxury add-ons, just reliability. It never broke down. It drove like a beast. It knew I needed sturdiness over style. The driver was fragile, and the car was sturdy. My little tank, I called it. There was room for the new dog, Agapanthus (Aggie for short). That car understood the assignment.
It broke my heart to part with it, but the seductive pull of automated emergency braking, blind spot monitoring, and rear-view cameras in the 2023 Crosstrek was strong.
Here’s what I’m not doing:
I’m not adopting some Dave Ramsey budget (that guy is so weird), and I’m not shaming myself for buying a car that was above my safety-feature means. I’m going to trade in the Subaru and promise myself not to leave the dealership with the brand-new 2025 Outback—the one with DriverFocus, which steers for you if you collapse at the wheel (honestly, kind of tempting).
I’ll acknowledge the cash flow problem. I’ll relearn how to back up without a camera. I’ll keep doing my physical therapy so I can twist around in the driver’s seat again. But I’ll miss the Subaru slamming to a halt when I forgot to prune the weeping cherry over the driveway and it thought it was about to hit something. Silly car.
Please do me a favor and look the other way when you see me parallel parking without the backup camera. I’ll blame it on my age.
But the truth is?
I’ve always been terrible at it.
Oh, while the car has got to go, the woman who bought it? She’s still here, and thankfully, she is still driving forward.
Suggestions Welcome:
Leave a comment if you have a favorite, practical, dignity-intact car you’d recommend for someone trying to stay safe and solvent. Just please—no sporty Hyundais.