As a kid I was obsessed with automobiles. Hot rods. Completely indulged and spoiled by a poor, doting, single mom I was on my fourth car by the time that I was old enough to drive legally. In bed trying to sleep at sixteen years old I was often restless and fitful worrying about the body on my '32 Ford coupe. Rust, you know.
Now I look back and thank whatever gods kept me alive through those years. I have no mechanical aptitude. I didn't know it at the time. In fact I guess I've just recently figured it out. Most of those cars only ran about ten percent of the time.
Of course I sometimes wish that I had those cars back... so that I could sell them again. If I ever want to see a hot rod, I'll see it at a car show or in a museum.
I've been through guitars, too. Every now and then a serious collector will ask me about some instrument that shows up in old photos from the past. Inevitably, some variation of, "Ya' have any idea what that thing would be worth today?" comes forth.
Who cares? Stuff. So what?
Now, inundated with loss, I feel as though I may finally be on the verge of really learning about attachment. I love people. People leave. Trying to hold on is the hardest part. It's possible to love without attachment. I'm a slow learner. I love you all.
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