I didn’t simply trade it in. I kicked it out. Like a ghost that drains your wallet instead of haunting your attic. It parked there daily. Glossy. Wordless. Looking smug. Every time I walked past, the app buzzed. “Cabin Overheat Protection active.” Like it was flexing. Showing off how self-important it can be. Meanwhile, my savings account looked like a dead battery.
I bought it on a wave of hype. Call it midlife flair. https://onlyusedtesla.com Everyone said, “Do it for the Earth, man!” So I did. Drove around feeling like an eco-warrior with a 0–60 in 3.2 seconds. Then reality hit. Premiums. Tires. That weird expensive fix for the tiniest scratch. For fun? Revenge? Who knows. It wasn’t even Tesla red.
Selling it should’ve been easy. Famous last thought.
Tesla’s trade-in quote came in lower than my nephew’s offer for my old PlayStation 4 — and he still thinks DVDs are cloud storage. I stared at the number. Snorted. Then wilted over my latte. Was this really all my future car depreciated to?
So I went rogue. Listed it on every site. Marketplace. Message boards where people debate percentages like they’re box scores. One guy messaged: “Does it come with free enlightenment?” Another wanted to try it only under a full moon.
First real bite: Jason. Wore a beanie. Owns a fleet of plug-ins. Showed up with a tablet, not a wallet. Ran diagnostics. Checked firmware version. Said, “Outdated build. Risky.” Offered a lowball. “Market’s flooded,” he said. “Too many Teslas on the road.” Left in his budget EV. I felt kicked while down.
Then Claire. Collected. Prepared. Brought her old man. He didn’t say much. Just nodded at the frunk, checked tire tread with a coin, asked one question: “Any battery loss overnight?” I told him yes, about minor drain. He turned to her. “Good sign. Means it’s still breathing.” Sold.
Signing paperwork over coffee. She paid by transfer. I hit “revoke access” in the app. Car made a soft thunk. Like a sigh. Felt surreal. Like removing a ghost from your WiFi.
Now I drive a simple Civic. No giant displays. No updates. No voice that says “Autopilot disengaged” when I sneeze. But I saved enough to book a trip. Maybe Spain. Somewhere with nothing but sun. No guilt. Just sun, sea, and zero amps.
Turns out, letting go of a Tesla isn’t about the car. It’s about realizing the future car doesn’t fit your current life. And that’s okay. Some futures belong to other people eventually.