It looks like this.
I’m not usually impressed with fancy cars. But while driving to work one morning in 2009, I saw a vehicle on the highway that was so beautiful I’ll admit that it distracted me from the road ahead. It was sleek and shiny, with sexy curves and a unique shape I couldn’t place–it sure wasn’t a Porsche, Corvette, or any other classic “fancy” car brand. I kept driving near it, stealing glances, until finally I got behind it, close enough to make out the emblem on the back–it was a Saturn. A Saturn? I thought. They make soccer mom SUVs. When I arrived at work, I dropped my bags, turned on my computer, and Googled “Saturn sports car.” Up popped hundreds of images of the Saturn Sky.
When I told my then-husband, a car guy, about it, he urged me to take one for a test drive, but I wouldn’t–I didn’t see the point, since I would never buy one. But he kept egging me on, and I finally did, for the thrill of driving such a gorgeous dream car, even if only once. During my test drive, I found that the only thing more fun than admiring a Sky was driving one–it handled smoothly, turned corners crisply, and shifted effortlessly. The driver’s seat hugged me comfortably as I chirped the tires on the drive back to the dealer.
But I didn’t buy it. You see, I’m a very pragmatic person, and I only buy things I need. And I didn’t need a Saturn Sky. And I didn’t buy new cars, either–only used; new cars’ value depreciated too quickly. The salesman kept calling me for a few weeks, until I finally, firmly told him that yes, I loved the car, but no, I would not be buying one.
A couple of months later, that sales guy called me again. “Any chance you’re still interested in a Sky?” he asked. General Motors would be ceasing its production of Skys, he explained, and his dealership had incredible incentives on their new ones so they could clear out their remaining stock. I went back and test-drove another one. I loved it, too, but told the sales guy “No” again and went home.
That evening, I had a thought–a big one. I don’t know where this particular moment of clarity came from, but it struck me like a Sky going 90 miles per hour with its 260-horsepower engine: if I died next month, I would regret never enjoying that car.
I knew the issue wasn’t about a car; it was about how I was living my life. Would I only give myself permission to fully live my life if I were 30 days from death? I had just turned 40. Was I going to play it safe every day of my next 40 years, or sometimes allow myself something that gave me reckless, over-the-top, abundant joy? The sales guy had followed through with an amazing deal, too, so my practical nature could be appeased.
I bought the Sky. Not the used one, either–the brand-new Turbo Redline–the black one, with the special edition red and black interior. I drove it out of the dealership with double-digit mileage, a huge smile, and zero regrets.
Thirteen years later, I’m still enjoying Abundance Car. Every drive, even if it’s just to Walmart, reminds me how to live my life. And sometimes when I drive Abundance Car, people smile, give a thumbs up, or pull up close behind to see what it is.
Whatever you choose each day–a sports car or something else–may you always choose from a mindset of abundance.