“Whelp, the check engine light is on.” I turned to my passenger with a worried look on my face. “Can you start Googling what that means for a Mercedes Sprinter?” I was on my second shakedown in Greta, hoping to take her into the middle of nowhere for her first off road adventure and really turn her lose before taking her in for a 90 day checkup. This was not a great start.

On Greta’s first shakedown from Montana to Denver, she barked orders at us from a large, white, German chasse and only my Dad could come up with the perfect name for her by replying, “well, thank you Greta,” in a German accent. Since I started playing guitar again, I had created a quick tune that mimicked Bob Seger’s Shakedown, often belting out, “shakedown, don’t breakdown, nobody wants to cry tonight.” I was certainly on the verge of tears as we ascended Vail Pass with a big orange light staring at me from the dash. Well, thank YOU Greta I sarcastically muttered under my breath.

After Googling for several minutes, pulling over to make sure the gas cap was on tight, and shrugging my shoulders a lot – I climbed back into the driver’s seat and looked at my friend. “I guess we’ll see if it just turns off?”

What a perfect metaphor for how I had been living. My check engine light had been on for a very long time, urging me to check in with myself. To stop, pop the hood, check the gas cap, honestly do ANYTHING to actually check in with My Hero and be honest about what I wanted out of my relationship and my life.  Just like Noah Kahan says in his song Growing Sideways, I’m terrified I may never have met me; Oh, if my engine works perfect on empty I guess I’ll drive. This hit hard. So much so that I have been learning to cover it on my guitar. I want to internalize it and remember to never do it again, whether single or in a relationship. I worked perfectly enough to run on empty, especially with the picture that I painted to everyone around, while on the inside I was empty. And I just kept driving. Much like I was about to do with Greta…

I had a lot of anxious silence to really think about this metaphor, while driving and listening to Noah Kahan (of course). Maybe the lesson here is to just stay acutely aware. Keep checking in. Keep staring at that damn light, hoping it will shut off with just a small adjustment. Maybe even Google some stuff? Then, if it doesn’t shut it off – know that it’s time to go bigger. Even when it’s so hard you think running on empty is the better move. You owe it to yourself to get that thing to turn off – one way or another.

Check engine lights on Sprinters can mean a variety of things, from a loose gas cap to several much more “rigid issues” that require immediate service. Lucky for us, after one overnight and another gas fill Greta’s check engine light shut off. I let out a huge whoop when I turned the ignition and no orange light popped up. I also noticed that I felt the fullest that I can remember in a long time on that trip…just pointing to a spot, having Greta bark orders at me, off-roading a bit, sitting next to a fire, and playing guitar. It makes me hopeful that I can continue to fill up as I move into part-time van life in June.