A Cocoon on Wheels

270,000 Miles in a Van Named "Nova"

In 2014, my third and youngest child, Isolde, was born. Up until that time, I had been driving a little blue Toyota Prius V. It was the nicest car I had ever owned. We bought it new, a beautiful cobalt blue, and I loved it. I zipped around joyfully, hauling my two other children, Zaid and Daisy, with me. Every time I got into it, I felt pride, comfort, and happiness. I felt safe in myself, as a mother, and in my life because of that car. I named it Blue Jay.

Isn’t it funny how a vehicle can do that? Like an outfit that fits just right, in just the right shade of color that makes your eyes pop. It’s a little big thing, and we often don’t give these things enough credit.

But when baby number three was born… There simply wasn’t enough space for all of us in my little Blue Jay anymore. It was time for an upgrade, whether I wanted it or not.

I never planned for a minivan, never wanted to be a minivan mom. I always saw myself as an SUV cool mom. So, when I went to the dealership, I was honestly shocked when I ended up driving away in a gold Toyota Sienna minivan… but the kids loved it.

The doors opened automatically with a gentle tug of the door handle or a simple click on my key fob. The seats were heated. It came with all the bells and whistles and so much space. There was even a speaker in the back that allowed me, with a single click of a button, to talk to the kids calmly without turning around to yell at them. Ha!

I chose it because it was going to keep them safe and provide us with all the room to grow, but ultimately, it was the kids’ love of it that had me convinced. When the salesman opened the door for them, they lit up and jumped in, taking turns sitting in every seat and looking at me with eyes full of excitement, “Mom, look! Mom, look!” They pointed out every little detail to me, and I knew there was no way around it.

We were officially getting a minivan.

Their enthusiasm over it won me over, and after a very sad goodbye to my Blue Jay, we drove away in what we would eventually name “Nova”.

Despite not having a lot of love for the way it looked, I couldn’t deny how nice it was to have the van, especially when (with eight seats) I could load up not only my three kids, but our friends, and cousins, and the whole family could scoot down the road together in comfort.

Of course, with three kids (and all our family, friends, and a new puppy in tow), no matter how badly I wanted to keep the van clean and nice… it got dirty fast. Spilled milk, crushed snacks, and, because we lived in the country — dirt, leaves, rocks, and twigs. And I’ll be really honest here… I took a bit of pride in myself for raising kids that could have been easily labeled as “a little bit feral”. I loved that they were wild, free, and dirty — and the van made it simpler for sure.

The van certainly did, in the end, make life easier and more joyful, and in no time at all, it became brimming full of hundreds of wholesome memories:

The kids and their best friends would all clamor up onto the center console to poke their heads out of the sunroof as I cruised slowly down the long, winding driveway to Grandma’s house.

Summers were non-stop fun with the kids. Trips to the creek, going to and from our friends’ houses, plenty of room to sprawl out at the drive-in movie theater.

My youngest daughter, who will turn 12 this year, literally grew up in that van, making it almost like a childhood home on wheels. She kept it full of her books, crafting projects, rocks, sticks, toys, and half of her wardrobe (or at least it felt that way to me).

I taught both my older children how to drive in it.

She held us through 270,000 miles worth of road trips and family moves, hauling us, our stuff, and every thought, question, and conversation along the way.

In 2021, after my return from abroad, I even lived in it for a short time, and during that time, I was first learning how to reparent myself, implementing one of the key elements of The Memoir Method.

During that particular time, I had taken the second row of seats out, put in a blow up twin mattress, my bicycle, a cooler, and my luggage and had hit the road — taking myself on a walkabout, a soul-searching adventure, on a mission to figure out what the hell to do with myself and to not only understand myself, but to heal and find a pathway forward that was true. It was my shelter, and it kept me safe.

I knew by then that this van had an energy and that energy had evolved over time.

It had gone from brand new and brimming with children, to the safe keeper of a military family that traveled hundreds of miles at a time… to my temporary home and the sanctuary of my broken heart.

It has also been a full-blown bottle shop on wheels as I grew my first business, Untoxicated, an alcohol-free and functional beverage consultancy. Carrying shelves, tables, event supplies, and thousands of dollars’ worth of alcohol-free drinks.

She carried me, my children, and our lives.

At the end of the last couple of years, however, I must say… I was starting to get embarrassed by her. She had been “road hard and put up wet” by me, and despite the regular oil changes, I hadn’t exactly taken good care of her. She was dirty and stained, had a rear-view mirror replaced in a different color, part of the front grill had fallen off, one of the back brake lights had a massive crack in it, and her paint was starting to fade significantly.

Because I basically lived in that van, I kept a LOT of stuff in it. Camping gear, beach supplies, everything I could need for an impromptu event, extra blankets and clothes just in case (which all came in very handy more than once, I might add). But… she was a mess.

I talked to her often, rubbing and patting the steering wheel while I drove, telling her how thankful I was to her for keeping me safe, helping me to travel such long distances, and holding me through so much change. “Nova” became a cocoon of my metamorphosis. She held me as I turned to mush and then rebuilt myself into the version of myself that I am today.

I will forever be eternally grateful for that van.

This past week, as a gift to myself for my 41st birthday, I bought a new vehicle. A small green Honda CR-V Hybrid, which I have officially dubbed as “Willow”. She’s beautiful, and brand-spankin’ new — and I am very grateful and excited to have her.

But as I drove away from Nova, pulling out of the dealership parking lot, my heart panged and pulled backward in my chest so hard I had to catch my breath.

I forgot to say my final goodbye.

I had hurriedly gathered all of my things out of the glove box, pulled my grandmother’s sun catcher from the rearview mirror, and gotten into my new car.

It wasn’t, but one day after I got Willow, that I took my first road trip —driving from Okeechobee, Florida, where I had been taking care of my dad, back up to Charleston, SC. Our first few hundred miles together.

I wasn’t expecting it all to hit me quite so hard. The grief.

I didn’t think I would need to grieve a car, but alas… I very much did.

This week’s Substack is a little ode to her. The final goodbye that I didn’t say. But as I sat here writing this, I put my hand on my heart and sent her so much gratitude and love — deep appreciation for every version of myself that I was within her. Every mile, every memory, every emotional breakdown, and breath through that she held. I will be forever eternally grateful for the life that passed behind that steering wheel.

Of course, I do realize that it wasn’t so much the van itself, but rather the life it held, and the woman that I became within it. I am giving myself this time (and even hosting an entire manifestation challenge) to recognize all that I have moved through, and just how very different I have become over those 12 years together (especially the last 5).

I am proud of how hard I have fought to become the woman that I am today. With pride, I can even say I am a little bit in awe of myself for all that I have moved through and accomplished.

However, it is taking me a little time to shift… to morph yet again, from the broke and struggling woman that was driving that van into the prosperous and successful woman that now drives this new SUV.

Willow and I have over a thousand miles to drive this week — I hope she’s ready for this wild adventure that I am living, and I’m so excited to see where we go together from here.

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