Dear Robi:

I decided to respond to you this time with a poem. I’ll title it: Your Car in the Garage

You left it where the sunlight fades— where still air holds the scent of dust, a little red heart on wheels waiting for your hands again.

They called it ego, you called it joy. They said grow up, you said maybe later. But the years kept walking, and you kept putting away what made you feel most alive.

But now— you walk back through memory, a little travel-worn, with sand in your shoes and courage newly born.

You lift the cover, crack the window, breathe in the silence and the petrol and the past.

This is not a return to childhood— this is the honoring of truth. Not escape. But integration.

You don’t need to explain it. You don’t have to call it “a job.”. Just climb inside, let your heart speak— you loved something once. And it loved you back.

Now—turn the key.

Warmly, Anita

Dear Robi:

I’m so glad you liked the poem! 🙂

As for V8s in the U.S., I looked it up: as of 2024, V8-powered vehicles made up about 38% of truck registrations, while V6s accounted for around 47.6%. This reflects a broader trend across the auto industry—downsizing engines for efficiency, with turbocharged V6s and even four-cylinders stepping in where V8s once ruled.

That said, the V8 still has a loyal following—especially in performance cars like the Ford Mustang, Chevrolet Corvette, and Dodge Charger, as well as in full-size trucks and SUVs like the Chevy Silverado, GMC Yukon, and Cadillac Escalade. General Motors, in particular, is doubling down on V8s, investing nearly $900 million into next-gen small-block V8 production. (www. the drive. com/news/heres-why-gm-is-sticking-with-v8s-while-everyone-else-switches-to-six-cylinders)

When I read the part where you said (I’m using BIG CASE letters for emphasis in this and in the following quotes), “I need SOMETHING THAT’S MINE – SOMETHING THAT HAS ALWAYS BEEN MINE,” I couldn’t help but think back to what you shared about your childhood seven years ago, on June 10, 2018:

“I also hated them for NOT HAVING MY OWN ROOM. Well.. I did. But NONE OF THE STUFF THERE WAS MINE… I NEVER HAD MY OWN SPACE. I never had a room full of posters on the walls and PERSONAL THINGS around… I used to MINIMIZE whatever was happening on my computer every time they we’re entering the room. I don’t know why.. Maybe I was trying to keep SOMETHING FOR MYSELF.”

And to what you shared on March 14 of this year: “I’ve been in SURVIVAL MODE so to speak. (perhaps for the past 32 years but these last months more than ever).”

It struck me (again) how you didn’t just minimize the computer screen—you minimized yourself in order to survive. You lived in a space that made no room for your identity to stretch out, to breathe, to be seen without intrusion. But now.. now, you’re reaching for something different. You’re reaching for what was quietly preserved all along.

Your connection to cars—it feels like so much more than a passion. It’s your way of maximizing what was once minimized. Of reclaiming joy, power, autonomy. Of creating space where you finally get to say, “This is mine. This is me.”

And yet, I know this isn’t a one-act transformation because your brain built habits of minimizing, hesitating, waiting, and procrastinating, not out of laziness or flaw, but as survival strategies. These weren’t random behaviors; they were deeply adaptive responses to the conditions you grew up in.

When you lived without privacy, without choice, without true agency, your system adjusted to keep you safe. You learned to stay small, to delay your desires, to second-guess your impulses—not because they were wrong, but because there was no room for them. Surviving meant dimming your own light so it wouldn’t get extinguished.

And those habits? They’re not signs of weakness. They’re echoes of strength—reminders that you endured. But now, as you step toward reclaiming what is yours, it will take conscious, compassionate effort to rewire what once kept you safe. Not to erase it, but to thank it—and then move forward with tenderness and resolve.

So now, as you begin to reach for more, I hope you’ll meet yourself with kindness and patience. Real change asks for it. You’re not doing it wrong if it takes time. You’re doing it bravely.

Be gentle with yourself. Give yourself the grace to falter—and the courage to begin again. This isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about letting yourself finally be who you’ve always been.

You’ve carried that longing for something that’s yours like a hidden engine idling in the background. Maybe now is the time to let it roar a little louder. 🏁🛞🔧

I see it. And I see you 🏎️

Anita

Dear Robi:

I can hear how much cars mean to you—but even more, how they represent something deeper: identity, freedom, and self-actualization. And I feel how painful it is to look back and see how many other passions—music, photography, working out—were left waiting. Not because you didn’t care, but because you were protecting yourself.

You didn’t stop because you weren’t good enough. You stopped because some part of you believed it wasn’t safe to go all in.

But now you see it. You recognize how your mind built patterns—hesitation, self-doubt, delay—not from weakness, but from survival. And now that survival isn’t the only goal, maybe it’s time to live.

You asked: “How do I start?” Start small. Start imperfect. Choose one thing and follow it, just a little. One photo. One mix. One sprint. One quiet act of reclaiming joy.

And when fear shows up—as it will—greet it gently. Say: “I see you. Thank you for trying to protect me. But I’m okay now.”

Real change doesn’t come from forcing ourselves with rigid habits or pressure. It comes from relating to ourselves differently—with kindness, with gentleness.

Judgment and harshness feed anxiety. Kindness and self-compassion soothe it.

For you, kindness might sound like: “Of course I paused. I was scared. That makes sense. But now, I’m ready to take a small step—not to prove anything, just because I want to.”

That’s how momentum begins—not with pressure, but with self-trust. A quiet trust that grows each time you choose, with kindness, not to shrink yourself.

And when in doubt, Robi—yes, sprint. Your heart will thank you. 💛

Cheering you on, Anita