The Cost of Perfection

I'm a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to details or how I tackle a project. I bought my 2010 Honda Fit in the Spring of 2023 because I wanted a daily driver that could be the tiniest bit 'cool' and economical for my commute to work and back without worrying about door dings, mileage, maintenance, and having the space of a 'tiny mini-van.' As per usual, the daily became the 'not-so-daily' after getting multiple sets of wheels, importing an exhaust from Japan, rebuilding the front suspension with full poly bushings, and more visits to the junkyard than I'd like to reminisce about.

I think most, if not all, car enthusiasts can relate to the feeling of spending a lot of time and effort on their own projects. In my own parallel, my Honda Fit is a project too, maybe not in the same sense of being the typical 'cool' street tuner from Fast and the Furious or nostalgic 90's Hondas that a lot of people might imagine when thinking of a project car, but it's a project I fostered that reflects my attention to detail. I don't think the car encompasses everything I'm capable of, but it's a canvas that I try to maintain because it's an extension of myself and my personality.

Realizing perfection isn't achievable is a huge hurdle to acknowledge early on in any hobby or pursuit. I struggled for the past few years trying to envision how my cars would look, perform, or even how this site would be. I strive to chase my own ideal of perfection as closely as I can, but that endeavor of always chasing a certain outcome led to stagnation for me. In my own fear of being unable to show the best version of my car, my passion projects, or even myself, I closed off doors and left some ideas behind because I was scared of failure. This feeling of being afraid to try something developed into regrets that I wasted a lot of time waiting for the right chance or opportunity when I should have created the opportunities myself. A quote I like to think about from Denzel Washington goes, "to get something you never had, you have to do something you never did." I think that part of the thrill now is doing it scared even if it doesn't work out, that plans might not turn out how we wanted them to, or that life gets in the way sometimes; be it our hobbies, our careers, or our relationships.

What value is there in small details like changing out a scratched interior trim or small nuances such as the most miniscule map light color matter if nobody but yourself notices these things? None really. I'm fully aware nobody will raise an eyebrow wondering why something is light gray vs lighter gray without bringing attention to it. "Why do it then? Why do anything then?" I think that sometimes we get so fixated on the idea of perfection or making something 'like new' that it becomes hard to admire the character that something has for its imperfections and, in a way, shows that it lived a well-worn life. I don't associate cars to being living creatures or having souls per se, but I do think that most cars deserve a chance at being admired for what they were designed to do.

In my own defense for why I'm so particular about maintaining my cars is that I want to experience them as if I were living in a time where I could have bought them like they were fresh off the showroom floor. I take a lot of pride in how I approach modifying and maintaining my cars because I think there's a certain charm to vehicles that becomes more apparent when you identify characteristics in how somebody goes about replacing or upgrading something. A takeaway I hope you have if you've read up to this point is that enjoying your car despite the chances that it could get door dinged, rock-chipped, or worn down is part of the process and that it's okay to experience setbacks even if your bumper gets folded on the freeway by a stray tire.