Minimalism: I LOVE My Old, Hand-Me-Down Car!

 I do feel a little bad about how hard I was yesterday here on a friend of mine who bought his husband a new car. (He never saw this blog.) "Just as stupid as the straight people" might have sounded like I don't think he's a very kind and goodhearted person. But we all make foolish choices, when we don't know any better, even the goodhearted among us.We all burden ourselves, and this type of burden is a heavy and long-term one indeed.
Yes, it is their own life, his and his husband's. But they are ruining it, and it is so hard to keep my feelings to myself (though I will for their sake). They are making it so much harder for themselves than it needs to be, and all because of fashion, to impress others, or because they like the egg-or-box-shaped monstrosities of the modern age.
There is no shortage of reliable, older used cars where I live--far from it! (How many are wasted because they rust away out of neglect?) And I can't imagine there are very many places in America where it is much different. Until we run out of reliable older used cars, no one--not even a millionaire--has an excuse to waste money and resources like this. It's not very eco-friendly, in my opinion (and yes, there are ways to reduce emissions or increase fuel efficiency for older cars). And all of that metal, plastics, cloth, and other components has to come from somewhere (I've never seen a recycled car), and be manufactured and shipped with even more energy.

My mom's words echo in my mind: "Why would I want to go to work every day, to pay for something...that gets me to work every day?"
Car payments are a terrible burden that people should avoid whenever humanly possible--and if you absolutely must incur payments, why not buy a car that burdens you with as few payments as possible? A hundred dollars a month for five years or more--or two hundred, five hundred or more for a few years--if freed up, could comfort you and your family with a lot of security and peace of mind. Why not free at least some of that money up by trying to sell? Or not tie it up in the first place?
I repeat my mantra: No car ever feels as good to drive, as it feels to not have a car payment.
I've never had a car payment, and am very fortunate that way. I don't know firsthand what it's like to have a car payment, but I do know how good it feels not to have one. And I also know how much I worry at the prospect of having to come up with a car payment every month, and I don't even have one yet. I will try my best to avoid one, or buy a reliable car at least ten years old--the cheapest I can find, especially in case I have to sink money into mechanics' fees--so that I can make as few payments as possible. Yes, mechanics' fees cost money, and that should be taken into account. But for goodness' sake, they don't cost tens of thousands of dollars, plus interest!
My mom says that whenever she has had car payments, she has worried and stressed over being able to make them, even in good times. I am so fortunate to have her hand-me-down. And I will try not to ever know for sure how I would feel with a car payment, especially for years at a time.
I feel like harping on this subject so much, because this isn't just a little extravagance or a little waste. It is tens of thousands of dollars, sometimes even approaching one hundred thousand dollars. Plus interest, which can easily double the total cost over the years. Never forget the interest; it will ruin your life. It adds up fast.
When my own family or friends incur such debt, it feels like I am silently screaming at a horror movie, "Don't open that door!" Except that the door is often already open, or their hand is on the knob, so saying something would be useless and only alienate them. Only to my mother and this anonymous blog can I really share how I feel about new cars and the car industry.

I am so proud to be driving my mother's hand-me-down Nissan. It is a year older than me (I'm twenty-five), and it is still running beautifully. Yes, there have been a lot of mechanics' bills over the years, but for goodness' sake, how much more would it have been if my parents had traded in cars every few years--especially middle-class status symbols? On top of the routine maintenance that all cars share, it's a couple hundred every few years, not a couple thousand, tens of thousands, or more, every few years.
My mother bought it when I was about eight, when it was already used a few years (maybe now, she would have gotten a used car older, I'm not sure). She hasn't had a payment on it in more than a decade, and now I have no payments on it at all, just upkeep and insurance, which one has to pay for anyway.
I have many very fond memories of her picking me up in that car, or taking me shopping with her, and how great a time we had talking in it.
She once decided not to listen to my pessimistic father, and get it fixed instead of trading it in, and discovered that it wasn't nearly as expensive to fix as she had thought. "My car!" she exclaimed when we went to get it, clapping her hands. "Your car!" I exclaimed with her. She had listened to her gut, instead of a man, and it had paid off.

Once we hauled two miniature goats in the back seat. They didn't even poop or pee back there, and stuck their heads up front to see us once in a while. And once we got on the road, they stopped crying and one even lay down on the back seat.
A bus full of inmates on a work crew passed us, then slowed way down so that we would pass them, then passed us again, just to look at our goats and point and laugh. We were at a loss for words--what the heck was the big deal, here? People have their dogs with them all the time. These were like vegetarian dogs.
"You have Texas license plates--you've seen things like this before!" my mom said a little crossly at a passing truck with a giggling couple in it. We can haul goats in Oregon, warm and sheltered from the weather, just as well, too.
We had a good time, and my grandparents, especially my grandfather, really love their goats. (Don't worry, we have seven others now; we're not goat-poor. My mom has a van they can go in if there's a fire and we have to flee.)

My mom gave me that car to me when she got her new van--new to her, about the same age as the car. "I just love my van!" she says every once in a while when we're out and about. She got an insanely good deal on it--eight hundred dollars, and the guy even worked on it for her before giving it to her--because...well, because she has big boobs.
The guy who sold it to her, an acquaintance who is not in her life anymore by her choice, was the kind of man who is married but still acts like he's looking, thinking he can still charm the ladies. He is one of a long line of creepy men she has had to put up with over the years, and has to even now sometimes, so I don't blame her at all for using his ickiness to her advantage, in the one or few times she can. She never had to make any promises or any actual trades, either. She's very shrewd.
Once we met some people in a parking lot to buy ducks from them. She has the back seat removed anyway, to haul boards for our (her) ambitious home improvement projects. We put a tarp down in the back, then put a cage on top, and gently dropped them in. We drove home happy and laughing, listening to all five of them talking, knowing that they were as warm and safe as we were.
"It's just so awesome--I thought nothing of just putting them in the van," she said. "I wouldn't be able to do that, if it was a nicer rig."
The cats love her van too. Whenever we unload it, several of them are eager to get in it and lie down in there. Our white cat, Snoober, sits down on the open hatchback door, the highest point on the van, and cleans herself; we have to shoo her away to close it. Another one even went with her to work one day, without her knowledge. She put him in a spare room at her work and brought him home that night, and we still have him. (I am so glad that he is not someone else's, since he is so sweet that they would steal him.) He doesn't get in the van anymore.
My mom shares my values when it comes to cars. Our cars are not a symbol of lack to us ("I can't afford a 'nice' car"), but a symbol of all the money that is free for our use, or all the debt we are not in, because we don't have a car payment.

I love my car so much, and I'm so glad that my mom loves her van so much. It doesn't matter that I have to tell people it's my mom's van when she picks me up, so they don't fear for my life. It doesn't matter that my little brother called it a "rape van" when she first got it. There are no rapes and murders here, only good times and saving money.