My Life as a Car

"Describe yourself as a car" it read,

and as I held the board game card in hand

I saw the image clearly in my mind-- the

very car I drove, a Honda Civic coupe. 

I noticed first its solidness, the moment I got in 

and shut the door. Sporty-looking, too, in black, 

low maintenance and economical. It suited 

me, and at the time, it served me well

as self-assessments go. But that was years

ago, and like fine wine, the value has 

improved, accrued, risen with my age,

not due to any great accomplishment,

but learning who I am at 56 and being

pleasantly surprised to find I like 

that person quite a bit. Self-perception 

and esteem expanding as the days have passed, 

I'd answer differently today. Something

candy apple red, perhaps, or cobalt blue,

with classic lines and that old solidness,

but just a hint of fun. If that sounds arrogant

or crass, if what you want to give me for

my birthday is a goodly dose of deprecration, 

(self- or otherwise) please be advised that humility's

true meaning, as I've heard it anyway,

is being willing to be known for who and what 

you really are. If I find, at this stage of my life,

that I've become a sports car, it just follows 

that I'm comfortable with that. And if you

find this problematic, thinking of another

model more befitting someone of my

age perhaps I can convince you, if you'll

love me and enjoy the ride.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

That last line sounds vaguely sexual when that wasn't actually my intent, but that's okay too. 56-year-old women have earned the right to be sassy, or whatever else they want to be. Happy birthday to me and all the others born today!