We had “one of those days” of home ownership a couple of weeks ago, when our brand new riding lawnmower broke. Three times. On the same day. So, taking the subtle hint that it might need some professional attention, I loaded it onto a trailer and hauled it to the nearest dealer. As I drove, I thought to myself that my trusty Ford pickup had been doing a lot of “truck stuff” of late. We used it for hauling mulch and dirt, hauling firewood, hauling bicycles, getting rid of yard waste, pulling the camper and hauling all of our junk for a couple of fun camping weekends, making a bunch of trips to Home Depot and Fleet Farm for various things we needed around the house, and so on. Not to mention a bunch of trips pulling a U-haul between the old and new house during our recent move.

I was grateful to have my truck on all of those occasions, and why not? I’ve had a few pickups over the years, but this one is quite possibly the best vehicle I’ve ever had. It can really do anything; it’s comfortable, powerful, it’s great in snow and bad weather, it does anything I need, and it has been super reliable. So, it’s been good to have around, both as a daily driver and for whatever sort of “truck stuff” we might need it for. It feels to me like it is being used just as it was designed to be used. Which was not always the case.

Rewinding a few years, it was just about this time of year that I was preparing to retire from the Air Force and transition to my new career as an airline pilot. One of the things I had planned for was making sure I had a reliable vehicle for the upcoming move to the Midwest and lengthy commute to the airport. I was also planning to buy a home (a first for me) and was really looking forward to finally being able to settle down a bit after more than twenty years of moving around every couple of years. So, it made sense to me at the time to replace my aging SUV with a pickup truck. Enter my (then) new Ford. Well, the truck was great, but as it turned out, life had other ideas than the settling down I was anticipating. I’ll spare you the gory details, but there would be no house and no settling down for me. That was five years ago.

So there I was, after the dust settled, living by myself in an apartment, with this big truck that was pretty much useless, other than for driving to work. This was NOT the plan. Sure, I considered getting rid of it for something smaller and more efficient, but I just couldn’t. For one thing, I liked the truck. And it was paid for. For another, there was a small part of me that was hanging on to the idea that maybe, just maybe, that life that I was hoping for when I bought the truck might still be out there somewhere. Or maybe it wasn’t, and I was accomplishing nothing more than spending unnecessary money on gas by keeping my oversized airport runner. To add a little salt in the wound, my well-meaning dad and then-new girlfriend both thought it was funny to give me a little good-natured grief about my truck, remarking how clean and pristine it always looked, and how I should actually haul something with it sometime, because it never had to do any real work. Yeah, yeah. Hardy-har-har. Everybody is a freaking comedian, I thought as I wedged my truck into its Toyota Prius-sized apartment garage parking spot and took my one bag of groceries out of the back seat. So I like a clean car, why pick on me for that? But, they were right; the truck was not being used for its designed purpose. And yet, I didn’t want to let it go, because of what it represented. Somewhere in my mind, giving up that truck meant giving up on a life I had hoped for for so many years.

Back when I was flying in the military, we talked a lot about unintended consequences when we developed our operational and tactical plans. The idea was simple enough; for every operational action we took, there was of course the desired effect, but there was also the possibility of additional outcomes that may or may not be predictable. We considered unintended consequences of the desired effect to have three potential outcomes: positive (an unplanned benefit), negative (an unplanned detriment), or perverse (some kind of effect that might make the original problem worse). In the case of me and my pickup truck, an unintended consequence of life going sideways was me ending up with a truck that I didn’t really need. Which, in the big scheme of things, was not the worst outcome in the world. However, it was also a daily reminder of a long-held hope that seemed farther and farther away by the day, while I was just getting older.

Fast forward to today, when I hauled the lawn mower back to the house (fixed under warranty, yay!), and mowed the yard to see if it was sorted out. It was, and when I put it away in the garage, I took a minute to look over that same Ford truck, now in its parking spot in the garage of our new home. It’s still in great shape, but it doesn’t look so pristine anymore. It has a lot of miles on it, there are road tar and brake dust stains on the white paint, chips out of the paint from rocks and bugs, and a few scratches and dings in the bed from hauling various things. My truck and I have been through a lot together, and I suppose we have both picked up a few scratches and dings along the way. But I don’t see them as blemishes; to me, they are marks of purpose and of a story that isn’t finished yet. And my truck is no longer a symbol of something failed and lost; it’s a reminder of resilience, hope, and of not giving up. And, about that life I was hoping for? Well, that story isn’t finished yet either, but it’s in a good and promising place.

These days, my truck feels almost like an old friend, if one can say such a thing about an inanimate object. I know all of its quirks, and it fits me perfectly, like a well-worn pair of shoes. Every time I settle into the driver’s seat, start it, and feel its V-8 rumble to life underneath me, I appreciate our journey, and wonder where we will go next. I know that one day, it will wear out and have to be replaced, and that’s ok. For now, though, it makes me happy to know that my truck and I are right where we are supposed to be.

AB13