I went to get my rental car this week, and the only one available was a giant Jeep Cherokee SUV with all the bells and whistles on it.

The rental agent said he was drooling over the car; he’d love to have one, he said adding that I was lucky to get it. It did look pretty jazzy.

I’m bringing it back first thing next week and downgrading it to a smaller sedan.  It’s not for me.

I learned something from it. I really like smaller cars, like my Toyota Rav 4 Hybrid. I really like fewer buttons and features. I really like smaller gas bills.

I felt a bit queasy from the first when I saw this car,  but I wasn’t sure why.

I learned over the past few days that I’ve changed. My rental car helped me to understand the change.

I always bought larger cars and refused to consider the smaller ones.

But I feel differently now, and I am different now.

I find this car excessive, with 100 features I don’t need and can’t figure out how to use. I laughed at Maria for having cars that reminded me, I said, of lawnmowers and toilet bowls.

Looking online, I saw that 1 2021 Jeep Grand Cherokee cost between $35,000 and $88,000. Or about twice as much as my Rav 4.

The rental car is big,  a major gas guzzler, unlike my Hybrid, which gets 41 miles to the gallon,  is half the size.

I immediately drove the rental car into a ditch on our driveway during an ice storm yesterday, and the car tilted a bit before settling on the ice.

This brought back echoes of my accident. “This is frightening you,” Maria said. “I can see it in your face. Let me take over. ”

I started to say that this was silly; of course, I could get the car out, I’ve done it a million times,  but then I thought of my father, who would rather have cut off an arm than admitting to being vulnerable and frightened in front of his wife and children.

I thought, “Jon, you don’t to be that kind of man.”

I was frightened; I felt some panic in my chest. It was too soon. I didn’t want to believe my accident was still frightening to me a few weeks later, but Maria saw it called me out on it, in her gentle but strong way.

Let me help, she said.

The tilting of the car brought back some frightening memories to me of that accident, and I said, “okay, I’ll step out of the car and let you handle it, and thanks. I guess I am frightened.”

A shocking thing to admit for a man who has been driving for more than half a century and had never had an accident other than colliding with a deer or two.

But the image of my car starting to roll over on it, as it slid down that icy hill, was still fresh.

Three strong men, passersby, pulled me out of the car. I have no idea who they were. They helped me out and left..

I couldn’t get out by myself. Time to own it and let it leave on its own steam. I know that being strong isn’t hiding vulnerability; being strong is admitting it.

Maria got into the driver’s seat, figured out the 4 wheel drive, and shot out of the ditch. She was sure and confident. It took her two tries.

She drove the rest of the day and for most of this morning. I loved seeing how much she loved this huge car; I also know she would never buy one in a million years.

Aside from the PTSD feeling, I greatly prefer the smaller car.  It feels like me. I don’t know if it was always me, but it’s me mow.

I like being kind to Mother Earth, and I feel much more in control of a smaller car. This one feels like it’s driving me.

Maria loved driving this beast, she seemed to know what all of the buttons did, and her fingers flew over the touch screen like a Google software engineer.

She figured out all the many touch screen icons and settings (I don’t really need to have the seat and wheel warmed up); she loved the space, the smooth ride, and the size.

She got the butt warmer on in a flash and warmed up the steering wheel too.

In our marriage, Maria is always the one with a small, gas-efficient car, and I always had the pick-up or the SUV. But I never had a car this big or loaded up with crap.

Monday, I plan to take the car back to the rental agency and get a smaller one. My insurance company will pay up to $1,500 for a car rental while my Rav 4 is getting fixed.

The big car will eat that up before my car gets home again.

I don’t want to drive this thing for the next couple of weeks, not unless there’s a huge snowstorm.

I’m left marveling at Maria’s mechanical instincts and skills – she had a blast driving that monster while I quivered on the front seat – and I think I’m learning who the real me is.

I don’t need a big and powerful car; it kind of gives me the creeps. I think she’s the best possible kind of partner for me – she loves expensive things but would never buy one or own one.

And I have to be honest. I was grateful to let go of having to be brave and strong for a few minutes, or perhaps for good. It’s heavy mask men wear.

I’ve always been able to wait for my butt to warm up in the winter. I’ve never had the chills down there. A car indeed identifies us in many ways.

Somehow, I’m different than I was. I don’t want the smallest cars, and I don’t want the biggest ones—something in the moderate middle.

I’ve either grown out of myself or into myself. I’m not sure which.

I don’t need as many things as I thought; if each one of us thinks about it, we might save the earth. I don’t need a car that gets 19 miles to the gallon, and I don’t need to feel I’m driving a truck.

As I grow older, I’m growing into myself, the person I really am and want to be. Better late than never.

After the first Bedlam Farm, and after our very painful bankruptcy (we couldn’t sell the farm in four hard years), I decided to take responsibility for my life. The big royalty checks and advances were gone. I had to look ahead.

I cherish a simpler life. I am learning to think about what I need. I am happy to share in all of our lives’ decisions and trials and mechanics on the farm; she does so many things better than me.

We are partners, no one is more equal than the other.

I always suspected that feminism was good for men and women, and now I am living that lesson.

When I post this, I call the rental car company and switch to a smaller car. I’ll get it first thing Monday or, if it’s snowing, on Tuesday.