Tales from a Bruised Mind

When I got my driver’s licence at the age of 17 (the earliest you can do so in Australia), it felt as if I had all the freedom in the world. Something changed, like a light switch had been flicked on inside of me.

It was a liberating and wonderful feeling. I could finally explore as an independent young man. It’s hard to explain just how good that really felt.

Buying a car might not be a huge deal to every person on this Earth, but when I bought my first car with my own hard-earned money in 2017, it changed my life.

The first car had come at a time where I had begun to feel very unwell mentally. I had never felt so mentally defeated in my life. When I didn’t feel so good, instead of staying home on the couch, I got into Rhonda, my bright orange rocket, and drove away from the comforts of home to explore somewhere new.

Not only did this distract me – where I could instead focus on the winding road ahead – it also felt like I had an actual connection to my car. I’d often go up the mountain roads north of Brisbane – my hometown – sometimes casually, sometimes not. I’d often push the car hard and challenge it, and it would only respond back with confidence.

I felt so in control, when the rest of my mind and life didn’t seem to be. Only when I could smell the piping hot brakes from inside the cabin that I let off. I’d drive to a park in the quiet forestry and sit as the car ticked away and contracted from the heat. I remember those days to be very happy ones. Just my car and I. No other distractions. No other stresses. Complete freedom.

When I got out of hospital the first time, the first thing I did was get in the car and go driving.

I did the same the second time, and then the third. If I ever felt bored, I got into the car. If I ever felt sad, I did the same. Forget video games or reading books all day long: instead I’d find myself driving.

…

Now, with a new job and a change of pace, I find myself completely carless in Sydney. Uber, the bus and the Metro train network are my ways of getting around these days. And it certainly feels as though something is missing. Something feels strange.

Instead of being able to jump in the driver’s seat and head out on a weekend adventure, instead I find myself at home with plenty to do, but no desire to do it.

…

Cars and driving has been an important part of life for me always. I grew up around close family friends who did nothing but talk about cars. The chat was always constant.

Some of my earliest memories were in cars, like Dad taking our family for a drive up Mount Cootha in the Saab 93 convertible he had. Or Dad driving me to school in his Porsche Boxster, with the roof down even in the winter.

My family friends always had sporty cars, so being scared in the passenger seat happened for me quite often. Big power Nissan Silvias, 180sxs, drift cars – the lot. I spent many days at Queensland Raceway watching on, or strapped into the four-point racing harness of my good friend Sam’s drift car.

This all helped to build my automotive knowledge, my nerdiness and my love for everything with four wheels.

That passion hasn’t left me, and I don’t think ever really will.

…

I find myself looking forward and dreaming even of being back behind the wheel. Rowing through the gears of a manual transmission, feeling the car’s chassis moving beneath me. Hearing the snarl of the exhaust and smelling the heat from the hard-working engine. It’s an experience for all the senses.

Now it’s time to start looking for my new motoring companion. I just want to feel those great memories from days gone by. Is that too much to ask?

Love,

Zak