After sixteen years it was finally time to say goodbye to my 1968 Ford Mustang coupe. It was well past time, sentimental attachment making me reluctant to do so even after it had been sitting idle on my parents driveway for over a decade, in need of a full engine rebuild.
I could have put the money into it and made it ride once again, but it was always a backburner idea that never seemed quite the right thing to do. I have many fond memories of the Mustang, I had it for my final two years of high school. It was my dream car, the one I planned to upgrade to a V-8 from the straight-six. Never to be.
Its funny how we get attached to things imbued with memories, thinking those objects will somehow keep us close to a past that has long since sped away. It’s nice to keep some mementos, objects of significance. But what we keep can also be an anchor. In this case it was two-ton anchor sitting at home, not really in the way, but not serving any purpose other than memory.
Like my Volvo before it, I had to let it go. I’ve moved on with my life. I may never live in California (or the US for that matter) on a permanent basis again. Funny thing, the Stang is gone, but the memories remain. I feel lighter.
