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My mother used to say to me during my studies to savour every minute of my student's life. Life changes when you start working she said. For a while I believed in my own truths, feeling that life starts when you get to play with the big boys. But in reality, my thinking was just a product of late capitalism. Hooked on the latest & greatest, unable to see myself as anything else than a collage of ownership. Being in possession was my mantra. I'm ashamed to say that my belief system remained unchallenged for years on.
When I got my first job, I still held tightly to what my father instilled in me. I spent hours looking at second hand car markets, picking one that would define me. I was a product, an idea of my father, myself and western society. Of course my budget was limited. Hence was my identity. My father taught me how to drive, how to work on cars and what to look out for when buying a used one but was of little to no help (or rather understanding) when I actually made the decision to buy my first. He told me over and over to not buy a car, that it's a waste of money. Looking at it now, it might've been his way of telling me not to repeat his mistakes. I've learned, he hasn't.
Shortly after the reality sunk in. I've bought a car and quickly realised that it truly is, in the words of Scotty Kilmer, an endless money pit. I felt about as much connected to it as to a fridge but still got overly anxious whenever I sighted a new dent. After a while I got offered a company vehicle as a benefit. I took it. My reasoning was twofold. A) A brand new car under warranty shouldn't turn into a headache that easily. B) Getting a brand new car at such a (relatively) young age might teach me its true value. I was right on both accounts.
A status symbol. Though instead of making me feel up there with all the accomplished, it made me feel like a fake. I wasn't that well off to be driving a brand new vehicle. My identity mismatched. But it made me feel special. For a moment. Much like with anything, the glamor of the new fades quickly. Hedonic treadmill, hardwired, seemingly getting me where I believed I was supposed to be headed. The dent anxiety got worse at first. The car wasn't mine and I was afraid that I might have to pay for the damages (this is very much still a possibility). But it did level out and after a while got ironed out almost completely. With it went the idea that I'm what I own. My ego no longer mirrored the dents, nor the glamor.
Sometimes I look around my room and ask myself why do I need any of this shit. A stark realisation, I can't take any of it with me, at least not to where we're all headed. My mom was right. Life does change after you start working, for better of for worse. On one hand, life does get harder and there is no need to try to list all the reasons why. On the other, adult life is the closest you can get to living it. Anything you want on this cursed Earth, you go get it yourself and truly see what it's worth.
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