Lost, Broken or Stolen
by Steve Mitchell
I once heard (or, more likely, I once saw on TV) Buddhist monks consider all their possessions already lost, broken or stolen.
Or maybe I dreamed it.
It’s a good philosophy, a way of avoiding attachments to material things which can’t endure.
I remember when my first new motorcycle fell over in the carport.
The bike was less than two weeks old. I was aghast. I was mortified.
But then, once I cooled down, I was sort of relieved. I could quit worrying about the shiny and just ride the bike. ”It’s a working bike, now.”
I’m thinking about it because the shiny, red, oh-so-pretty, sports car I bought yesterday is slowly revealing itself to me. It’s not a new car. Oh, no. It’s seen some miles. Yes indeed.
Mechanically *knock on wood* it’s pretty sound. It goes like stink. Nothing rattles or shakes which you wouldn’t expect to rattle or shake on a convertible. It has a sweet sounding exhaust note and a nice road feel.
But, oh, look, the front bra is frayed on one edge. And there’s a crack in the center console. Ooh, and the shift knob feels oddly glued. And, well, I knew the passenger visor was broken. And, hey, one of the attachment points on the top has a broken rivet. And dig it, the key fob batteries are dead.
I’m sure there’s more. I know I’ll find more.
It’s a teeny bit aggravating. I’m no Buddhist.
But, it’s not mortifying. After all, it’s been driven. As shiny as it is, it’s a working car. I can fix what I can fix and, otherwise, I’ll just drive the dang thing.
I’m kind of a relieved.