I recently said goodbye to my 2011 Mini Cooper hardtop. I bought it new in April 2011, which feels like a lifetime ago. It was the first car I chose for myself and paid for with my own money. I drove it for more than 200,000 miles.

A few months after my divorce was finalized, I decided it was time to get rid of the Lexus SUV my ex-husband had picked out that had never felt like a good fit for me. As a new lawyer in my mid-20s, single and childless, I wanted a car that better reflected a sense of adventure and boldness. I wanted a conversation starter, and a Mini just seemed cool. After years of living according to someone else’s ideals, I was struggling to uncover and define who I was, and the car I drove seemed like an important means of self-expression.

I drove an hour and a half to the dealership in Baltimore just to look, but I was a salesperson’s dream customer and ended up buying a car that day. Young and financially naive, I didn’t negotiate the price — I was just excited that the monthly payments would be lower than they were for the Lexus, and the excellent gas mileage would save me money. In retrospect, a brand new car was a frivolous purchase considering how much I owed in student loans, but it felt like a responsible decision at the time. I don’t plan to ever finance a vehicle again, but at least I figured out that buying made more sense than leasing and that the amazing dealer financing special being offered was basically free money. My ex had a habit of trading in our cars every year or two, but I was determined to drive this one until I paid it off. I did that, and then continued to drive it for a few more years until I had exhausted most of its value.

My life looks a lot different now than it did when I bought the Mini. I continued to drive it after my son was born, pushing the front passenger seat as far forward as it would go to lift the infant car seat in and out of the back seat. When he outgrew the removable car seat, I put a front-facing convertible seat back there. Every day, I had to push the driver’s seat forward and crawl into the tiny back seat of the Mini, often in skirts and heels, while holding my year-old son so that I could get him buckled and unbuckled. Two-door cars are not ideal for infants and toddlers. Eventually, I decided that my beloved little car was just not meeting the needs of my family. As I prepared to have a second child, I knew there was no practical way to make it work.

Today, I drive a station wagon — a black 2011 Volkswagen Jetta Sportswagen TDI, to be exact. It’s not as flashy as the Mini, but it’s a pretty cool car in its own right, fuel efficient and a good family vehicle. My husband found it on eBay, and we paid about a quarter of what I’d paid for the Mini, this time in cash. The Jetta reflects my maturation and the evolution of my relationship with money. Its four doors and full-size back seat can easily accommodate two car seats, with a stroller comfortably stowed in the trunk. While the Jetta isn’t new, I expect to drive it for at least another 80,000 to 100,000 miles, maybe more if I’m lucky.

I don’t feel much emotional attachment to cars in general, or to most material things. The Mini has a special symbolism for me though, tied up with my coming-of-age and journey toward independence. I’m grateful for the ways in which it served me over a nine-year period of my life characterized by constant change and significant growth. I hope it brings joy and a sense of freedom to whomever has the good fortune to drive it in the future.

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