I returned my leased
2018 Nissan LEAF electric vehicle last week. I drove it for more than eight
months as a daily commuter and occasional jaunt enabler. It is a remarkable car.
It is my favorite four-wheeled vehicle to drive bar none. And so…
I
am writing this love letter to you, my dear LEAF. We’re been ripped apart after
4,900 miles together. Our breakup provoked anguish and adoration in equal
measure. Anguish because you’ve moved on to a new driver; adoration and thanks
for the time we had together. I love the way you moved me.
Driving
with you was sheer delight. Almost soundless on the road, nary a growl from
under the hood. Like drinking coffee on an empty stomach, you spooled up
horsepower for amazing acceleration. What is more, your eco-friendly
nature made you me-friendly. Without that spirited personality in my life now I
must grudgingly accept a ‘normal’ driving experience.
I remember
the first time I saw your younger self, with your ample, rounded proportions.
You’d been launched into this world for only a few months. I was tasked to
drive you to an event near Oppama, Japan. I’d never seen you
before. But I’d heard how unique you looked, how fresh your outlook,
how you represented a new era that would change the world.
You were dressed all
in white, glittering in the lights of our office parking lot where I picked you
up. I
was warned that you were quiet. Still, I couldn’t detect if your motor was
running at first, but I quickly figured out how to begin our first date. I
remember my focus on not making an embarrassing
move; I gingerly guided us toward our destination at a modest
pace. I could tell that you appreciated my caution and concern for your
well-being. But I wasn't mature enough, wasn't ready to commit. After a few
dates, we drifted apart. When we were together, though, boy oh boy the
metaphorical sparks did fly.
Truth
is, I tried going out with other cars, to forget you. They were so noisy, so
normal, and so sullied. I just used them and walked away.
Looking
back, I see now that due to our work commitments you and I drifted in and out
of each other’s orbit. Sure, we flirted with other partners. But I never forgot
about you, always yearned for another chance. I knew instinctively your future
was bright. I hoped to be with you again as you matured. Then one day I saw you
hiss along a highway on my computer screen, a silver blur.
I had butterflies in
my stomach when I first laid eyes on you. How hot looking, how modern you’d become.
The coltish curves had turned into a sharper silhouette. I was nervous, unsure
of myself. How could I again make you mine? But it was more than physical
attraction. It was both heart and head. From our first frolic together, I knew
you were fun to be with, fun to travel together. Because you'd matured, I knew
you'd have the energy and stamina to take me where I needed to go. I thought, how does this ‘new you’ present yourself on
the tougher roads of today’s world?
I
somehow managed to get back into your good books, sink into your seats. I love
that your motor doesn't have to scream to move us faster and faster where we
want to go. I love that I know we will have a long future together. I love how
when I look at you, despite the troubles of the day, I sense that
everything will be all right.
More and more of your cousins are plying the
roads of the Earth, to help make the world greener and more beautiful. Our
relationship was part of that.
The
vicissitudes of life and work have temporary separated us again. Yet I
know that we will reunite somewhere down the proverbial road. Until then, know that
I love you. I think you're a lively soul, and practical, and good—all
the things you dream for in a motoring partner. So, the question, dear lovely
LEAF, do you feel the same way?
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