Our 17-year-old Honda CR-V (affectionately named “Broomhilda”) met a tragic, early death last summer when a deer jumped out of the neighboring woods, straight into its hood. her car. My husband, who was miraculously unharmed, drove it home and had the dent repaired. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to us, radiator fluid slowly leaked into her engine until several months later, we pulled into the driveway and saw the kids going crazy as clouds of smoke billowing from her hood, every warning on her dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree. She's toast – and she smells like it. Watching the tow truck pull her out of our driveway one last time, I felt an unexpected lingering sadness that lasted longer than I expected.
I'm hardly the only one who grieves a little when my car dies. I'm also not the only one who feels compelled to name my car. Sometimes we can't help but assign personality traits to objects we love, says George Slavich, director of UCLA's Stress Assessment and Research Laboratory. “People tend to anthropomorphize certain objects like cars, even give them names, because our brains are hard-wired to see personality even when that personality cannot exist”.
So why do we bother with our car? If you live in LA, your car is more than just a way to get from A to B and back — it's a small mobile home. You spend so much time in your car that it becomes a temporary residence, a place where important memories are made and milestones are achieved, and just like our homes, we have can become emotionally attached to the places where these things happen. For nearly two decades, Broomhilda was our family's mobile home. We brought our teenager home from the hospital in her. We used her to take our oldest to college. She carried us in sickness and in health, on countless family trips and terrifying trips to the emergency room. We stuffed her with furniture, balloons, cakes, pets, and more children than are legally allowed to come and go from birthday parties. Her gray fabric back seat was covered in dog hair and some stains left over from a carsick child's vomited chocolate milk. When she was pulled out of sight from our driveway, her scraps used to revive other vehicles, I was convinced she had been dragged down to her metal grave with her. with a few defective Airpods, some loose change, and maybe a few baby teeth left. out of her reach in the mattress.
Even with the growing hiccups of age, Broomhilda still holds countless keepsakes and evokes countless mundane memories – things we create every day but take for granted. “Memories are inextricably linked to the context in which they were created, and for many people who grew up in the United States, that context likely involved a memorable car or two,” Slavich explains. Because the adolescent brain is primed (see what I did there?) to form social memories, important social experiences like a first date, first kiss, or vacation. That first fun ride can link back to the car you drove or drove at that time in your life. . “When these types of life events happen, your brain not only encodes the circumstances of the event but also the smells, tastes, and contextual features of the environment. So the cars in which our lives take place become an inherent part of our personal stories and histories,” he said.
In a crowded city like Los Angeles, your car is one of the few places where you have complete control over your environment. “Amidst the hustle and bustle of the city, you can roll up the windows, set the temperature exactly the way you like it, and play relaxing meditation music or, if you prefer, turn on Jay-Z or Your favorite Britney.” song and sing as loud as you want.” Additionally, whether you are aware of it or not, your car is your entertainment space. “Every time my friends get into my car, they have an experience, whether it's music,” says Monica O'Neal, a clinical psychologist and relationship expert based in Boston. or adventure”.
Our cars also contain many different aspects of our inner and outer lives. First, they symbolize our sense of self and autonomy. “Your car represents you,” O'Neal said. “In a way, they provide a sense of our identity as well as some narrative of our lives and struggles.” On a surface level, for better or worse, you can be judged based on the type of car you drive, which is an epidemic in LA. “A car is almost like your clothes,” O'Neal said. When people see you getting in and out of your car, you immediately recognize their identity.” She also said that cars are one of the few private spaces in our lives. “If you are working, you spend most of your life in your car. It can be a place where you have privacy and time alone with your thoughts.” Losing a car can also mean losing a sacred space that you can rely on to process your emotions.
The most important thing to know if you're grieving your car is that you're not missing out on some random object – your car is a sacred space that serves as a receptacle for memories you created in it. All feelings of grief are completely normal, normal and will pass at some point. It's been months since Broomhilda went to the junkyard and I'm still car shopping. Naturally, I was most attracted to the CR-V. They won't be Broomhilda, but I know they'll be a perfect fit for us.
