So I've got this car. I love this car. I've always spared no expense in keeping it running and looking its best.
I never drive it in the rain. I wash it almost every time I take it out. There is never a speck of trash in the thing.
I take such good care of the car that - I'm scared to drive it lest I damage it somehow.
I'm so afraid of getting a door ding in it that I keep it garaged and only put 100 miles or so on it every year.
I'm so afraid of screwing it up that I get almost no enjoyment out of it.
I'm so paranoid about driving it that I ended up letting it sit and get chewed on by mice all Winter.
What's the sense in having something if you can't allow yourself to enjoy it, and use it for what it's meant for?
If it's not used then it's just going to deteriorate.
I've said before, sometimes life provides its own metaphors. This is a good one.
The purpose of having a nice car is to drive it, enjoy it. Even though there's always a risk of damaging it. To have a nice car that only sits in the garage is a waste.
I've resolved to enjoy my Monte Carlo. To risk the door dings. To let it do what it's meant to do. To be driven.
But the car is just a metaphor. The real question is...
Now that I finally have a functioning heart again, shouldn't I be willing to take the same chances with it?
Wouldn't it be worth the risk?
Perhaps, (back to the metaphor here, try and keep up) but what if it wasn't such a nice car?
What if it was a piece of shit?
What if, by taking this car out on the road, I was endangering the lives of innocent people?
Not so clear now, is it?