Sarcasm and Sanity

This is one of those posts that leans more “Sanity” than “Sarcasm.” I’d apologize, but… here we are.

I sold my car today.

Not “thinking about it.”
Not “getting a quote.”
Actually sold it.

To Carvana. Which feels about right, honestly. Click a few buttons, upload some photos, schedule a pickup, and boom—life change complete. Very efficient. Mildly horrifying.

They’re picking it up this afternoon.

No replacement plan.
No “I’ll just get something smaller.”
No backup.

Because this wasn’t really about the car.

It was about the fact that I am now, officially, legally blind.

Even typing that feels like I should hear a voiceover.
“Previously on Fiona’s Life…”

But no. It’s just… this.

And apparently it comes with decisions like selling your car.

I didn’t wake up one day and go blind.

It’s been more like a slow negotiation I was quietly losing.

Driving at night got harder.
Then rain.
Then glare.
Then that moment where you realize you’re not reacting as quickly as you should—and now you have information you can’t ignore.

You can pretend for a while.
You can adjust.
You can tell yourself it’s fine.

Until it’s not.

There’s a specific kind of loss that doesn’t look like anything from the outside.

No casseroles.
No “thinking of you” cards.
No clear moment where everyone agrees something changed.

You just… stop doing things.

Quietly.

Which, for the record, is a terrible strategy for grief.

Selling the car felt bigger than it should have.

It’s not even a sentimental car story. No road trips. No “this car got me through everything.”

It was just mine.

Freedom, in the most boring, adult way possible.
Run errands. Go to appointments. Leave when I want. Come back when I’m done.

And now it’s… not.

Gone with a scheduled pickup window and a confirmation email.

I keep wanting to frame this in a way that makes it easier for other people to hear.

“I’m adjusting.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

And some of that is true.

But also—

It is a loss.

And I don’t really feel like turning it into a lesson right now.

The strangest part is how normal everything still looks.

Same house.
Same routines.
Same me, mostly.

Just… smaller.

Less independent.
More planning.
More relying on other people’s time and patience.

Which, if I’m being honest, is the part I hate the most.

If there’s anything I’m learning, it’s this:

Not everything turns into a neat little story with a point.

Some things just… happen.
And then they stay.

(No inspirational quote incoming. You’re welcome.)

I sold my car today.

And it means something I’m still figuring out how to say out loud.