I cried when I sold my car four or five years ago, even though I hadn’t driven it in a year. I left my former life to become a poet, and I couldn’t afford anything about a car anymore. Not insurance, not gas not maintenance.
The brakes died on a side street and I let I sit there. The Prius batteries went in a month. After over a year, the tires were going flat and the neighbors were getting cranky, even though I went out there once a week and pulled the leaves off of it and wiped it down.
One day it struck me that it was time. I was no longer a car driver. So, I sold it to someone who owns a body shop, someone that I’d known since grammar school. I got $4000 for it, sight unseen. I gave the keys to my 2003 Prius the tow truck driver and walked back home in tears.
In 2002 when I bought it new, it was so novel to own a hybrid that Prius drivers waved at each other driving down the street. I think we thought we were in some do-gooder club.
I realized after seven or eight years of Prius driving that the bicyclists were mentally and emotionally healthier, and racking up karma points, with their fresh air breathing, aerobic workouts selves, not to mention their far less violent carbon footprint. I still cried.
I had no model in my awareness for being a cyclist and getting along without a car. That was then. Now, I know that the universe was calling me.