Goodbye Old Friend. Hello, Cairngorm Brown.

Back in May, I was sitting at my favorite perch in the kitchen. South facing windows let me take in the morning air and if I’m lucky, the cotton candy clouds reveal an early morning sunrise to my left. I am always with a coffee and that morning Lauren and I were discussing the resistant art of letting go. I was speaking about a car.

But this wasn’t just any car. It was the final car that Dad and I drove in together two days before he passed away. Man that was a helluva drive. Winding up and down my favorite road in the country — Chuckanut Drive — we were both content and all smiles. Not many words need be spoken on a drive like that.

As it tends to do, life was changing for me. Transitions come out of nowhere and life events almost happen in a specific order until we start to get the hint. Little warnings. Small curiosities at first. Most of the initial communications fall on deaf ears; after all, who isn’t completing inundated with the day to day? Who has time to take a breath to understand what is happening? Who can afford to look inward when things are out of balance when the dishes need to be done and we’re already 10 minutes late for the job we don’t want to go to in the first place?

I knew I needed to off-load that weight. It would be both a literal relief (money) and an emotional release (letting Dad go).

So, I did what I never thought I’d do. I let go. I sold it. Not only did it relieve a lot of financial burden, but I could also feel the echoing of an internal warmth as the weight carried itself away. Curious I thought.

Our lives have this sometimes humorous, but not always welcome, way of transitioning us into a new adventure. In hindsight, they generally afford opportunities of growth and redemption, both of which I think we could all use more of don’t you think? For me, it meant starting a new challenge as a steward of something that had been without care and love for almost twenty years.

But before we could begin to tackle any new project that demands our presence, a coffee was in order.

I met Randy a few years ago when I was working at Land Rover Seattle. He was a prominent figure at the Bellevue store and little did I know that our paths would cross again five years after.

My good friend Jim and I had been clamoring about finding a vintage Range Rover for some time. To date, I had been a Defender guy, but it turns out that Land Rover Disease is prominent and doesn’t affect the host in ways I thought it did. Apparently, it lasts for life and pushes you toward the next challenging project despite you saying you’re not ready for it. It essentially knows when you’re ready for the next diabolical test, and proceeds to give you an opportunity to swoon over it. Without knowing, you’re committed. Humorous. Devious.

I heard that Randy was the owner of a 1989 Range Rover County and that he may be willing to part with it. But it would be a hard sell. So I met up with him. And then a second time. And on the third visit, I brought a check. Did I care that the windows didn’t work? Or that the radio didn’t turn on? Or maybe you’d think the fact the tailgate is rusted through would deter me right?

(Sigh)

Land Rover Disease. A necessary affliction it turns out.

Twenty years is a long time to be bottled up without a chance to demonstrate your creativity.

I firmly believe that cars have souls and I am unapologetic about that fact. Dressed in a beautiful new coat of Cairngorm Brown, this Range Rover Classic has the bones of a truck well travelled — 79,000 originally travelled miles to be exact. But, it was dormant. Full of potential, emotion and a deep desire to be cared for once again. Randy was on to newer projects, and this truck was in dire search of a new steward.

Life is interesting in that we can go years and years without realizing our potential. We shroud our creativity behind the heaviest curtains of conformity and monotony. Maybe the messages life attempts to get us to hear and understand fall flat, or maybe, with a little jolt of motivation we can take that step toward the challenge even if the timing isn’t right. Maybe we can create our own timing.

Lauren’s Dad, Steve, and I started working on the truck the other day.

There are many small projects to take care of and we spent a good chunk of time on our backs using every tool in his kit to remove old rusted out screws and bolts. Frustrating. Bloody. Time consuming, yes. But a chance to build relationship and motivate a friend away from his own monotony was well worth all of those feelings. Hell, that’s what building a company that stands for something is all about. We push and connect with one another over common goals and interests and with a little time dedicated to unveiling the curtain of monotony, interests permeate and find new hosts in those we care about. Remind me to tell you about the time that Steve went from buying old shitty coffee beans at Costco to having his own home espresso setup.

You see, letting go has this incredible effect. Sure, the material changes can be valuable. But those internal weights are the heaviest. I can feel my Dad around when we work on the Range Rover. He was never really tied to that other car. He was with me regardless. And now there is a new opportunity to extract creativity and integrate it into something that needs it.

If you’re like me, then let go. However long you’ve been waiting is too long. Create. Make mistakes and have fun. Talk about the things that matter to you and watch how that affects those closest to you. It’s quite a sight to see, and one that I’ll never get tired of. So go out there, and maybe we’ll cross paths one day. I’ll count on it.