I didn’t sell my Tesla. I exorcised it. Like a spirit that feeds on electricity. It rested outside. Gleaming. Wordless. Looking smug. Every time I walked past, the app buzzed. “Cabin Overheat Protection active.” Like it was bragging. Showing off how smart it is. Meanwhile, my savings account looked like a flatline on a heart monitor.
I bought it in a fit of midlife flair. Call it eco-impulse. onlyusedtesla.com Everyone said, “Buy EVs! It’s the future!” So I did. Drove around pretending I was saving the planet at ludicrous speed. Then reality hit. Insurance. Rubber. That weird $1,800 repair because someone keyed the charge port cover. For fun? Revenge? Who knows. It wasn’t even the dramatic kind of scratch.
Selling it should’ve been easy. Famous last thought.
Tesla’s trade-in quote came in cheaper than a broken lawnmower — and he still thinks DVDs are cloud storage. I stared at the number. Laughed. Then sank into despair. Was this really all my electric fantasy amounted to?
So I listed it myself. Listed it on every site. EV communities. Threads where strangers fight over kilowatts. One guy messaged: “Does it come with instant wisdom?” Another wanted to test drive at midnight “to feel the energy shift”.
First real bite: Tyler. Wore a beanie. Owns three other EVs. 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 Said, “Outdated build.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 Nissan Leaf. I felt kicked while down.
Then Sarah. Calm. Prepared. Brought her dad. 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 a little each night. He turned to her. “Good sign. Means it’s alive.” Sold.
Signing paperwork over coffee. She paid on the spot. I hit “revoke access” in the app. Car made a gentle sigh. Like a roommate leaving quietly. Felt surreal. Like unplugging a roommate who never left dishes.
Now I drive a simple Civic. No screens. No updates. No car that tattles. But I saved enough to take a holiday. Maybe Greece. Somewhere with no Superchargers. No guilt. Just relaxation without kilowatts.
Turns out, letting go of a Tesla isn’t about the car. It’s about admitting the shiny future you bought doesn’t always fit the messy present you live in. And that’s okay. Some machines need new homes.