Worldview Changes

the freedom of not being special

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This is a story about how much better life gets when you leave a leftist worldview behind.

When I moved to Vermont, I was motivated in large part by a desire to get out of the Christian, conservative South. I wanted to get away from people who thought, among other things, that God both approves of and commands them to inflict bruises on children and that consenting adults should not be permitted to legally define their relationships with other consenting adults if those relationships are condemned in the book of Exodus. Vermont’s four distinct seasons appealed to me, as did its distance from the South and its commitment to natural beauty—billboards are illegal in this state, and being able to escape the constant barrage of advertising is, truly, glorious.

But mostly, I was attracted to the politics. That’s hard to admit, now. Four years of university, being steeped in the infantilism and self-crippling of leftism, with the astonishing good fortune of a gifted therapist (a real therapist, who challenges me and holds me accountable and has never once made me feel better) and my view of the world has entirely changed.

One of the initial elements of my culture shock upon arrival was car inspections. I had never heard of such a thing—the government inspects your car, and if it fails, you’re not allowed to drive your car?

My car was an old SUV I had saved up for, after more than a year of working every part-time job I could find, 7 days a week. I moved with only what I could fit in it. It was the kind of crappy car you get if you have saved up $3,500 from working an insane number of hours. Naturally, it failed its first inspection.

The guys who ran the shop where I brought it felt sorry for me, understanding both the predicament I was in presently and the one I had been in when I bought it. They worked with me on paying for the repairs to get it to pass, and they earned my loyalty. Every oil change, winter-tire-changeover, and all other car expenses have been at their shop, exclusively. Two of the mechanics have stayed the same, but all the other faces have changed. Managers, assistant managers, and others have cycled through. Some have moved away. Some have taken other jobs. Some left the franchise and opened their own shops. I continue to go there, seven years and a 900% income increase later.

I still have that old SUV; it’s almost twenty years old. I’m trying to make it last long enough to pay off my student loans (the endeavor to which 100% of my paid subscriptions go—thank you!).

Yesterday, I went to get an oil change and an inspection. Here’s how that conversation went:

Mechanic: “Your tires have plenty of tread, but all kinds of weather cracking. You’ve made them last a good long time, but they’ve got to be replaced.”

Me: “I’m not sure what you mean. They’re not that old and I’ve been at home almost all the time since COVID. I hardly drive at all.”

Mechanic: “They’re 2014s, though.”

Me: “That’s odd, since I bought them here like two years ago.”

Mechanic, looking genuinely shocked: “You what?”

Me: “Dude, I never go anywhere else. Pull up my file in your computer.”

Sure enough, it was right there. May 2020, I bought my tires there. A former employee put into the computer that I’d been sold brand new tires when I hadn’t.

Following profuse apologies and assurances that the guy who did it doesn’t work there anymore (and hasn’t for some time), they’re going to replace my tires and life will go on.

Driving away, I imagined my reaction if this event happened to the seven-years-ago version of me.

I started laughing.

I laughed so hard that I had to pull over.

The mechanics would have had to endure a lecture on systemic misogyny, sex-based oppression, and the need for government regulation of their corrupt industry.

I would have written letters to everyone I could think of, including local media. And they would have been good letters, publishable and eloquent.

I probably would have played the deaf card, and the local media would’ve lapped it up like thirsty dogs outside in August.

Disabled Woman Cheated By Local Mechanics: Systemic Misogyny Still A Thing.

Hate Crime Committed Against Local Disabled Woman in Mechanic Shop

The truth today—and it would’ve been true seven years ago, too—is that I don’t know why this happened. Did the dishonest mechanic assume my sex was the reason why he’d get away with cheating me? Maybe. It’s certainly possible. I don’t know that, though. Can’t possibly know that.

One of my friends, though quite masculine in personality and psychology, is one of those obviously-gay-in-appearance-and-mannerism gay dudes. Might the dishonest mechanic have assumed he wouldn’t know enough about tires, and done the same thing to him? Yep. Would a male have been safe who came in dressed for professional office work, in suit and tie, a guy who gives every impression of never getting his hands dirty with car repairs of any kind? Maybe. Maybe not.

An all-encompassing worldview like leftism, something that breaks everything down into victims and victimizers, benefits no one. That worldview would have locked me in to certain feelings and reactions, and put certain duties on me, as well—to make noise, to contact the media, to warn other women.

The only duties I feel today are to be grateful that I’m not that person anymore, the person for whom this would’ve been a defining incident to my “feminism,” and to learn more about tires so this can’t happen again.

When I go back to get my replacement tires, I will ask the mechanic to show me how I can tell that they are in fact new tires. I will know more, going forward, than I did when this happened.

Growing and learning, with gratitude, is more than enough duty—for all of us, women and men alike.

On the Future of My Substack

I’m not on Twitter anymore, so whether my Substack, as a side hustle, sinks or swims will be independent of promoting on my part. If you think it’s worth reading, please spread the link around. Thank you!