In 2008, Chris and I had tickets to see Feist in concert, a concert playing at the Starlight Theater in Kansas City. This was well before we knew that we would eventually be moving to that area. We decided to go to Tulsa the day before the concert and spend the night at my parents. Tulsa had recently opened a new Whole Foods and since Chris and I were all into grocery stores, we wanted to go check it out. As we drove down Peoria, we passed a scooter shop and sitting out front were two scooters, an orange one and a blue one. Chris and I looked at each other and did an illegal u-turn and parked in front of the shop. It was like they had parked us out in front. Chris and Cindy. Orange and blue. My credit was so bad that my Dad had to drive down to sign the loan papers. Before signing, Dad looked at me and said “Is this what you really want?” I replied with my whole heart “Yes. Yes, this is what I want.” He laughed and signed the papers.

There are so many things about that day that stands out in my memory. The perfection of that moment. Chris and I had been eyeing scooters for some time and here we had stumbled upon the most perfect scooters. They were Vespas in our colors. Dad, who I would never in a million years thought he would approve and agree, signed the paperwork to make it happen. There was only one moment of hesitation for me and that was when they delivered our scooters and I realized that I had no idea how to ride. I immediately almost ran into a parked car, but I knew without a doubt that I was meant to ride a scooter. I studied the motorcycle licensing book that tells you all the ways you’re going to die on a motorcycle. I went to a parking lot in the neighborhood every day and practiced turns and stops and driving in a straight line. I passed the motorcycle driving test with flying colors.

My scooter is more than a fancy Italian name with an engine and two wheels. It has been a source of joy since the moment I laid eyes on it. It taught me perseverance. It made me more observant to my surroundings. It has been a comfort in real shit times and it has become an extension of who I am. And on Friday afternoon, two men drove into the parking garage at work and loaded my joy into the back of a van and drove away. Just like that. My V is gone and I have no hope of ever seeing her again. I filed a police report with a very apathetic and robotic woman holding down the front desk of the local police department who couldn’t find my vehicle in the MO registration because she kept typing it up as a Vesta. I never spoke to a police officer. So, I feel certain that V is gone forever. I’ve had a whole weekend of moping about and leaky eyes over the whole thing.

I’m sad.

I’m broken hearted and defeated.

At dinner that night, our conversation turned to yoga and I told the Cabbage that the hardest pose in yoga is savasana. What makes it so difficult for most people is that it requires you to be still with your own thoughts. The true practice of this pose is really hard because the true pose is practicing the art of dying. It is saying goodbye to everything in your life. There are times when I think that I’ve got this pose mastered. It has gotten easy to say goodbye, or so I thought. This current goodbye was so unexpected, such a shock to the system, that it is going to take some time and practice to settle back into stillness. Michael is already talking about my next scooter and of course, when the time’s right, I will get a new one. But for now, I need to spend some time saying goodbye to all of the things that this scooter, my very first scooter, represented in my life. The emotional value of this scooter far exceeds the monetary value of the scooter.

And there’s no replacing something like that so quickly.