Well, it didn’t take long.
Oscar, my charming, creaky 1991 Dodge B350, got towed yesterday. Not even a full week into this new life chapter, and already we’ve hit our first “lesson.” Spoiler alert: it was messy, inconvenient, and just the right amount of existentially humbling.
The culprit? A cracked, brittle old transmission hose (that was actually just a garden hose with a dream) that decided to finally give up on life. Fluid everywhere. Van wouldn’t shift. I was stuck in neutral, both literally and emotionally.
Cue the slow-motion tow truck moment. Watching Oscar being dragged off like a defeated war horse, I stood there feeling like a sad, cowboy who just lost his last cigarette and his horse in one go.
And you know what? I didn’t cry.
Okay, maybe a little.
But mostly, I just stared at the mess and thought, “Of course. Of fucking course.”
Because that’s how this year’s been: full of beauty and breakdowns. Forward motion followed by gut punches. Freedom with a price tag.
Still, I’d rather be here, in this unpredictable, oil-stained, soul-stretching mess, than back in a life that felt like I was just surviving someone else’s idea of stability.
Oscar’s been to the hospital now. I’m in limbo. Again.
But we’ll both come out of this with a few more scars and a little more character.
(And hopefully a new hose that doesn’t burst at the first sign of hope.)
More soon.
This road trip is just getting started.