My dinosaur of a car has a special type of comfort. My friends don’t agree. They often regret getting in.

“Why’s it so loud?”
“Is it supposed to smell like gas?”
“I don’t wanna die!”

Their discomfort doesn’t mean we won’t have fun. My car opens up new conversations and deeper relationships. They’re already overwhelmed with unfamiliarity; any conversation won’t change that. So why not have a good one?

Along with sparking unique conversations, my car also breaks down. Keeping it on the road takes work. Everytime I roll to an unplanned stop on the curb, I get the opportunity to sit back and think. I enjoy learning my car’s components. I wish I had blueprints for the whole engine, to get every part’s purpose, down to the nuts and bolts. It’s not just a mode of transportation to me. I love gripping the skinny steering wheel and feeling it shake. I don’t have an RPM gauge. I have sound and feel. I have a pedal that communicates when to shift.

I’ve always been intrigued by how things work. For my car, I like starting with a direct path into its mechanics, like when I followed the stray wire into the broken speedometer. If I’m blocking traffic, I skip the mindful approach and jump straight under the hood to get it running. I always have fun, even in a panic.

As a kid, I enjoyed creating things. I spent hours building with legos and days in the garage constructing pointless projects. I built jumps for my remote controlled car and a makeshift forge built from the cheapest things I could get from the Home Depot.

These youthful constructions would often be interrupted by a bash on the head that turned into a physical battle between me and my older brother, Josh. He’s two years older than me. Josh’s strong desire for power and my annoying sugar-fueled energy spikes caused us to clash heads a lot. I have scars to prove it.

I hated that we couldn’t get along. I wanted us to have a good relationship.

When I was in seventh grade we figured out that we could actually kill each other. We started to understand one another. In any relationship you have to know who that person is and how they see you, or at least guess. I know how Josh perceives my actions.

If I’m watching tv, do I need to have the remote? Should I click my pen when doing homework?

Can we be responsible for our relationship?

We’ve worked to become friends. We love and understand each other.

I started by building with lego bricks, then with nails, and later with conversations.

Every project has components with a purpose and different ways to fix a broken part. If my car is stuck in the middle of an intersection or I’m struggling for air while in a choke hold, then I have to dive into the problem. But I prefer to follow a wire and see where it leads.

I enjoy the apricots. The first day they were ripe, it surprised me. Every time I get bored, I pick apricots. When I get really bored, I slide on my Vans, climb to the top of the tree, and jump on the branches. I make it into a game, seeing how many I can get to fall. Time passes by. Eventually the shift is over – who would’ve known it was nine hours?

“Chad’s out, schedule’s changed,” my boss groaned.
“What happened?”
“I don’t fully know man, but you’re working overtime now.”

I was hesitant to work 25 hours a week. Now, it’s going to be 35. I want more time off, but I know the struggles it would cause my pregnant boss. I know I committed to something, even if it’s more than I expected.

I listen to music and audiobooks to pass the time. Obviously, when I’m fueling customers’ boats or helping guests borrow kayaks, I keep my ears open. That’s relational. That’s fun. That’s my favorite part of my job. I get to meet new people and improve my small talk (which before the summer was subpar).

But, when I’m raking the small rocks on the homemade beach to look like a zen garden, or closing the pool in the warm shadows in the evening, music and audiobooks help the time go by. I’ll pop in my airpods – one at the beach and both at the pool. And I’ll listen. Sometimes to the voices and lyrics of Kanye or J. Cole and sometimes to the voices of old men reciting a captivating book. Either way it’s better than silence. I like it.

I like feeling productive.

“It’s the Fourth of July!” I exclaim as I skip into work. “Too bad I’m scared of fireworks.” I slow down my skip.

One of my biggest fears is fireworks. It sounds irrational but it’s real. On the bright side, at least I’m not scared of balloons anymore.

“Seriously??” My boss laughs. “Have fun today.” She pauses. “You’ll be busy enough, you’ll never notice.”

I was anxious, sure, and some may laugh, but deep down I’m a little proud.

Having worked for over a month now, I was comfortable with conversations like this. Even if I was frightened, as long as my boss was amused, could I really care?

I’m slow to warm to new people, but once I’m warm, I’m warm.

“Football is starting again, time to get your butts kicked!” I joke. I’m overly warm with my friends.

Every year, I execute a plan with my nine closest friends to form a fantasy football league. We poke fun, win and lose some, but in the end it’s all just for kicks.

We gather at my house and draft players for our teams. My strategy is to rely upon the research. I read magazines, analyze stats, and envision a scale in my head, tipping towards the better player. My friends use a cheat sheet. The banter is extraordinary. At least ten times throughout the night you’ll hear “why would you take him??”

Once the season starts, we debate at school like we’re on sports radio. I’ve never won. My team is analytically good, but too average. I won’t be deterred from my statistics though; one day I will win.

Whether I win or not, the tradition means something to me. Everything I do means something to me, or why would I do it?

I gain the most from life not through success, but experience. I succeed by learning from experience. Every tradition or activity I take part in – it’s intentional.

Even picking apricots.