Honda Civic

I’m an American so I probably think of car metaphors a bit much. But in that sense, my body is my Honda.

No, I didn’t get a flashy sports car, or something with six cylinders under the hood. Not a heavy diesel with a deep horn and the ability to run over smaller vehicles. Not a petite and cute electric vehicle with a catchy Italian name. Just your average fuel efficient Honda Civic. Gets ya around, everybody has something similar, wear and tear pretty normal for the road.

I read a lot about how folks rail against the body they’re given, and thankfully I’ve never suffered that way. Maybe because I’m one of those take-what-I-get kinda folk who go with the flow by nature. Maybe because I didn’t get bullied too much and could wander off to my own drum. Maybe because I never really, ahem, used my body for interpersonal relationships until I was much older and didn’t care. Then it performed as an average Honda does - reliably, thank you very much.

Growing up I read tons of old school science fiction and fantasy. Some of my favorite authors were what I called “body swappers” - they enjoyed transposing their main characters into other bodies and then seeing how it played out. Put the old man in his secretary’s hot young body. Put the beat up, tired middle-aged housewife into a new, virginal witch and give her a unicorn pal. Put the feminist into a male with a harem, then put the misogynist into a female of said harem and see how they play out. You might think these kind of body-swapping ideas sound like some kid’s comic book but nah, these were the 60′s and 70′s and apparently enough adults daydreamed like this to warrant publishing.

I think we like to imagine what we’d be like if we were something else. How would we change? Would we act differently? Would we love differently? There are folks who argue no way, it’s the soul that matters; there are others who scoff duh, you can’t beat biology. Which is the right answer? Like everything, probably neither.

What I believe makes the difference is the kind of treatment your body gets you. As a Honda Civic, I’m pretty par for the road. I can be your daily commuter, or your starter car, or your passport for those budget road trip vacations. But what if I’d been given a Peterbilt monster? Would I have to act more diesel to live up to everyone’s expectations? Would I have to take long haul jobs and spend forever on the open road? Or what if I’d been given a Fiat? Would I zip around differently, unfettered by the extra baggage and leg room of a larger vehicle? Would I have to hit up wineries on the weekends or navigate parking garages my whole life?

If you’re stuck in a Peterbilt but you just want to sip wine and go clubbing on weekends, or if you’re a Fiat but you dream of hauling big loads, my engine revs for you. I wouldn’t begrudge either vehicle for driving down the road less traveled. Because my little Honda heart might also dream of cruising along the coast like a Porsche-y little number that screams “douchebag” and guzzles gas like nobody’s business, but still looks sexy with the top down and the breeze in its grills.

My lot is easier since Honda’s are middle-road vehicles anyway. Also unlike some I don’t believe my sole existence is defined by this body; as a reincarnation believer I honestly think my soul is shaped by its experience going through multiple bodies over the millenia, whether I remember each body or not. Like those scifi swappers this life is only one book on my shelf, and I’ll see how it plays out. Therefore rather than let my body forcibly shape my identity, or vice versa, instead I try to let my identity settle into my body. If something really goes against my grain, often it’s not my body’s fault -- it’s the surrounding stereotypes that society are pushing onto it. Which is why I fight for more equal roads for everybody to drive on.

I don’t need to be faster or sleeker. I also don’t need to be more robust or lifted. I just need to get to where I want to go - and unless that route suddenly requires snow chains or mud flaps I’ll just muddle through until my warranty runs out.

(hopefully my tires don’t go too bald though)