I damaged my truck and now I can't stop thinking about object impermanence

Info

This post was a voice recording transcribed by my Pixel 8 Pro, then cleaned up, proofread, and formatted by ChatGPT. It has been carefully scrutinized to make sure that it still accurately conveys my original message, and is less than 2% different outside of grammatical changes

I was driving home today and I started thinking about the impermanence of objects. I damaged the fuck out of the right side of my car today – or my dad's truck. I hit the tree on the top of my driveway, and, pissed off, I ended up cutting it down. There's a huge dent and scrape on the right side of the truck. It's bad. It's not something that can't be fixed with some touch-up paint, but it made me think.

No matter how hard I try to keep this truck perfect, or how much effort I put into it, it's still going to eventually break down. I could keep this truck better than anyone has ever kept a truck, but eventually, even if it hits 400,000 miles, the engine will blow up. Or something unavoidable will happen, like I'll get hit head-on or t-boned, and the truck will be ruined. No matter how good care you take, something's eventually just going to break.

I've learned this lesson many times, like taking great care of computers and still having something fail on the motherboard. But this truck is not just a complex system; it reminds me of my dad. I want to keep it running well not just because I drive it every day, but also because it's a reminder of him. He'd probably laugh at me for freaking out over a scratch or a dent, especially since it's had its own history of damages. Someone keyed the left side while he had it, the door's been dinged, it got rear-ended, and the tailgate's scratched as fuck.

It kind of reminds me of the situation with my dad. He was like the right side of the truck panel that got beat up. Even if he had beaten cancer, it was only a matter of time before something else got him. At his funeral, I thought about my family, now mostly in their mid-70s. While I'll always think my dad died tragically young, 66 isn't that far from 76. My buddy Jeremy is six years older than me, and he's nearly the same person as he was. Ten years isn't a massive difference once you're past childhood.

Uncle Bill is 83, and he's great for his age. He's still active, going to church, donating things, and driving. It's wild to think about the age difference. Even if my dad hadn't passed from cancer, he'd be approaching Bill's age soon enough. Saying it like that makes it sound like a lot of time, but in 14 years, I'll be 39, which isn't that different from now.

Part of this mindset comes from watching "The Walking Dead" with Jeremy. While it's a zombie apocalypse TV show, it touches on themes of death, decay, and impermanence. These are real, tangible thoughts for me. I'm pissed about damaging the truck, and I'll get the dent pulled out and get some touch-up paint. But it serves as a reminder that, eventually, something on this truck will break. The Bravada has so many parts that are messed up that can't be replaced anymore.

When is it time to say goodbye to the things from our past? I doubt I'll ever love another truck as much. I like its simplicity, its analog nature. I really like Jeremy's 2023 BRZ but just like every new car they're all filled with garbage like a finnicky fake blinker and that dual climate control shit and it's like, I don't want the right side blowing AC and the left side blowing hot heater air; that doesn't help anybody, it just makes the whole car luke warm. I'd rather just have a lukewarm temperature going on... This truck, and the Bravada too, are symbols of a time gone by. Once they're gone, I've got to move on and accept the way things are. Sometimes, that's just how you have to play it.