MotorShow for One: Animating the Evoque

I’m the queen of terrain crossover response. Should you find me to be quite a handful, console yourself with the numerous admiring French phrases that surround me in the motor show. It is an all familiar lull that compensates for the void in my interior.

And for all the glitz of domesticity, I thirst for adventure that lifts me off the familiar pavement and takes me to the edge of my fuel’s capabilities. I’ve seen enough, but I have yet to see the terrain that will truly, madly, deeply take my breath away. I stay in the garage for now, but I wait for that journey with crossed fingers (or should I say, crossed wheels? ;-))

I only have three doors. One for the deepest recesses of my introspection, another for my intimates and the back door is for those who need to be in for the ride but are not too close to the touch. Allow me to dwell on these entrances a little.

I am no five-seater; I do not see myself able to love and accommodate as much people as I want. I look classy and stylish in some way, but I am not really born for permanently lounging in the outdoors. An occasional trip, yes, perhaps. But I’ll look just as dandy in your garage than when you are taking me on a joyride.

The first door is the most often used; it is the door of introspection. The wheel, the brakes and the accelerator are all in this first door, my driver’s seat. Based on my experience, whoever enters the passenger door and back door matter little. It is who drives the wheel that matters more. And if it’s in Good Hands, everything shall go well, even when there are splotches of mud and dirt that threaten to stain my pristine alabaster shiny exterior. Bump the bumper for all I care; all that matters is the good and kindly Driver who knows the means and end to things. I just make sure He holds the wheel, especially when things are topsy turvy.

The second door is close enough to the touch, but do not call the shots entirely. They have influence over me, but not complete control. I only give them as much control as they let me. But they are so near, sometimes they try to make their own maneuvers and steer me off in the directions of their choosing. I politely but firmly yank the gears off them.  At this time and age, I can be trusted to make my own adult choices.

The third and most distant door is the largest one, for that’s what the majority sees at the tip of my life’s iceberg. They see so much width; but the width is a designer’s illusion. The wheels get a bit of shock just as much as any car, only it learns to hide the pains so well with its ability to navigate through the terrain without making it seem as if much has been lost (and believe me, sometimes I lose a lot. I have just learned to bounce back just as fast.)

All 240-horsepower of me believes that there’s something good in me, albeit overrated by some and underrated by many others. I have my advantages and disadvantages. And while the Driver lovingly cares for me and plays up my best assets, there are some passengers who like to crudely point out only the bad. Not to say that timely warnings are not useful. I am quite grateful to those who (for good intentions or for bad) warn me of the dangerous curves lying ahead of the road I am trudging.

But to rap at me incessantly and nag me until my engine is at my wit’s end is beyond acceptable. The only rule of thumb is not to exceed the number of times I have to blow horns on myself or on others who endanger themselves.

I may have my flaws. I may not be like a brand new Porsche or a kick-a$$ Mercedes Benz. Other Range Rovers may have better breeding in the eyes of the narrow-minded passenger. But that matters little. I know that I am beautiful. I am not perfect, nor always the one to say the best things in the best way. But I know who I am: royal and meant for Love.

I know that I am worth all the car washing, goading, spending and road tripping. And I know that an immensely worthy car can hold out and wait for an equally worthy passenger in this journey of life. And when there is no worthy passenger, the Driver never leaves me hanging to perdition even for a second. Just His company is enough, when a third party seems all too heavy for my case to bear.

Most importantly, I DON’T GIVE UP. My head is still looking forward to the magnificent terrain that sweep me off my wheels. My head is still held high even if you roughly point out the dents in my front, sides and back. I still see myself as if I am brand new; my Driver sees to it that I maintain that mindset.

Assured of my identity, accepting of my foibles, I always ride through life with the hope that my presence and actions shall impel others also to keep moving forward through the humps and bumps of life.

I get stuck in stupid pot holes from time to time. Sometimes my rear view mirror threatens to overshadow the more important front view that takes me to my future. But to borrow words from Renard: La vérité vaut bien qu’on passe quelques années sans la trouver.

Having said that, this lovely and opinionated vehicle shall continue to do its best even if it is for an audience of One, or for no audience at all.