Occasionally I see half of my twenties going down Gallatin Road in East Nashville. Now the other half of my twenties is probably in a used car lot somewhere.

I am no longer a Volkswagen owner.

I now own a mini-minivan.

We sold the Rabbit last year after it sat in our driveway for months and refused to start. I occasionally see the new owner driving it around town. I smile when I see that old car.

The Golf, however, continued to serve us well. But this month we knew it was time.
 

I was so ready for the change. Our little Golf could only hold our little family. No carpooling with friends. Always taking separate cars when doing dinner with the grandparents. And the wingspan of the doors was a cause for heart attack every time Ian tried to open a door in a crowded parking lot.

Our new Mazda5 is great. The first night we had it we piled six people into it to run to dinner. The sliding doors help me avoid parking lot panic attacks. I finally can fit a jogging stroller AND the kids in the car at the same time.

But things are different this time. When we were saving to buy our VW Golf, I had a picture of it on my desktop at work. When we finally made the purchase, I was so excited to be initiated into the cult of Volkswagen drivers. (They had a ceremony with humming.) (No, they didn’t.) (But they did give us hats.) I remember being tempted to wave at other VW drivers. I probably did a few times.

When we were at the Mazda dealership a few weeks ago, Paul asked if I wanted to look at the shirts and hats.

“No,” I replied wearily.

After we bought the car, I felt a bit blue. Where was the excitement? Why was I not reading the manual front-to-back and exploring every bit of the car? WHY DID I NOT WANT A HAT?

I like seeing other Mazda drivers on the road. Somehow I feel solidarity with them. We made a sound, reasonable choice. But I’m not planning to wave at them. It’s not a club.

Somehow, saying goodbye to my VW has been another way of saying goodbye to young adulthood and welcoming the coming of middle age. At first I felt sad and disoriented, but once the initial shock wore off I found beauty. Contentment. Gratitude. I don’t want to go back. This new place is so precious. What a journey I took to get here.

Between you and me, though, I do miss that 40 mpg on my old VW. So let’s meet in the middle, my friends. I’ll savor driving my mini-minivan, taking the kids to school and playdates. But I’ll also keep pursuing life, dreams, and the perfect jeans. And you, auto-makers? See if you can get me a six-passenger vehicle that gets over 40 mpg. And maybe give it German engineering. Let’s meet in another seven years and see what we can work out.