I’m a sentimental sap. I recently sold my first car, and even though I really don’t care what I drive, I’m a little sad to have lost a piece of my early adulthood.

Few things are as special as your first car. It was my first big purchase. It was my first taste of freedom. It allowed me to explore the world and find myself during a time I needed it most. This reliable hunk of metal has seen me through the ups and downs over the last 8 years and has been by my side through life changes, big moves, and everything in between.

It’s taken me to interviews, up and down the California coast, up mountaintops for photoshoots, even to gas station parking lots for quick naps during long nighttime drives. It’s been my place of solace as I sat in bumper-to-bumper LA traffic and a familiar face space when I was far away from home.

It’s seen an infinite amount of bad parking jobs, heard countless hours of Ryan Seacrest’s voice, transported probably hundreds of college friends around town (not in the safest methods), turned on the low gas light too many times to count, and met plenty of mechanics. It’s seen an embarrassing number of parking lot fender benders and carried those bumper scuff marks around like heroic battle wounds when in reality I just pocketed the insurance claim payments and used it to travel.

In the past 8 years I’ve lived in many places, but this car has felt more like home than anything else. It was the only piece of property that was completely mine. Thank you, car, for dealing with me and being there for me, even if I wasn’t always so good to you.

You still got a lot of life left, and I hope the next person gets to feel that same excitement and joy when they turn on the ignition, turn up the radio, roll down the windows, and head off to the next adventure…