If my 35 years on this planet and love of ridiculous memes have taught me anything, it’s that life comes at you fast.
The last few months have certainly reminded me that’s the case. “I’ve never had a particular affinity for cars,” I wrote in this very column Feb. 6, a lifetime ago now that the world is grappling with COVID-19. “I’ve always been grateful to own the ones I have … I’ve just never been one to covet the latest make or model to move about town.”
All true, leading me to detail the very long, bumpy road I traveled to my car payment-less 30s. After nearly two decades behind the wheel, I finally understood the importance of regularly scheduled maintenance and thanks to YouTube learned to become somewhat of a makeshift mechanic myself.
“I’ve rededicated myself to a car payment-free existence,” I asserted, celebrating more than five years without one. “I have a newfound respect for showing cars some much-needed tender loving care.”
My car died almost immediately afterwards. It was as if it had read my column, in which I declared my penchant for expecting the unexpected, and decided to play daily rounds of roadside roulette.
Completely at random, my engine began slipping into low power mode. Turning the ignition yielded either the ability to go wherever I wanted, sometimes as if nothing had changed and more often at a maximum of five miles per hour, or to go nowhere at all. What an adventure starting my car had become.
I tried to save my not-so-trusty steed. It was only a 2009 so I was convinced that I could, having grown up gallivanting across town in my stepfather’s ’57 Chevy. An 11-year old car of the same make could certainly rev again from the ashes.
As the old saying goes, they don’t make ‘em like they used to. It was a fact stressed to me by not one, not two, but three mechanics that refused to even pop its hood. The fourth graciously offered to charge me $100 to diagnose the problem, if I could pay for a tow to their shop, a potential precursor to thousands more in repairs.
Just like that, I had rededicated myself to a car payment-clad existence. From behind the significantly more beautiful wheel of my Kia Soul, I’d also finally developed that affinity for cars.
My commutes had leapt nearly a decade into the future. I had features I could’ve only dreamed of just days prior – CarPlay, a rearview camera, functioning turn signals and speakers with sound – and I couldn’t have been happier. While I wasn’t ecstatic about making a monthly payment, I recognized that at long last I was making one that was worth it. A new day had dawned.
It quickly set. Just days after I readied my initial payment, our country collectively seemed to begin grasping how woefully unprepared we were as a nation for COVID-19. In the blink of an eye, we became the epicenter of the deadly virus.
It certainly prompted in me much more widespread fears than making a car payment. Fears for my parents in Ohio; my lifelines. Fears for my family elsewhere, for my husband and for our friends-turned-family in Florida, without whom we’d be lost.
They’re fears we’re all facing as we collectively confront the unprecedented economic and social fallout of this global pandemic, one we can only triumph over if we do so together. From the nonprofits that fight for the LGBTQ community in Tampa Bay and beyond to the drag performers who entertain us at our benefits and bars, we must support those that support us.
That includes Watermark, which has proudly served Tampa Bay and Central Florida for more than 25 years, bringing you LGBTQ-focused local, state and national stories. Your stories.
We fully intend to continue bringing that community-based, independent journalism to you via our eNewsletter, website, the PDF flipthrough of our newspaper and of course, our print edition. That’s why we’ve been working diligently to detail COVID-19’s impact on our communities in ways only our community can.
As sales decline in our family of advertisers, however, so do ours. We ask that you please support them, all of whom support you, and if you would like to purchase a subscription or make a one-time monetary contribution to our efforts, please do so at via these links here at WatermarkOnline.com. Every bit helps.
In these uncertain times and before, organizations in Tampa Bay and Central Florida have dedicated themselves to addressing homelessness in the LGBTQ community. We examine their efforts at length in this issue.
In news, we continue our COVID-19 coverage, detailing its wide-ranging impact on LGBTQ businesses, individuals and organizations throughout Tampa Bay and Central Florida.
We strive to bring you a variety of stories, your stories. Thank you for making that possible.
