I didn’t sell my Tesla. I banished it. Like a spirit that feeds on electricity. It rested outside. Gleaming. Silent. Looking smug. Every time I walked past, the app buzzed. “Cabin Overheat Protection active.” Like it was bragging. Showing off how clever it thinks it is. Meanwhile, my savings account looked like a dead battery.
I bought it in a fit of midlife flair. Call it eco-impulse. Tesla value calculator Everyone said, “Go electric! Future’s bright! Save the planet!” So I did. Drove around as if I was both saint and speed demon. Then reality hit. Coverage. 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 straightforward. 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. Snorted. Then wilted over my latte. Was this really all my electric fantasy amounted to?
So I listed it myself. Listed it on every site. EV communities. Forums where people argue about battery degradation like it’s sports stats. One guy messaged: “Does it come with a guru subscription?” Another wanted to try it only under a full moon.
First real bite: Mark. Had a beanie collection. Owns a fleet of plug-ins. Showed up with a laptop, not cash. Ran tests. Checked firmware version. Said, “Hmm. Still on 2023.3.1. Bold choice.” Offered $7K under asking. “Market’s flooded,” he said. “Too many Teslas on the road.” Left in his Nissan Leaf. I felt mocked twice.
Then Emily. Calm. Prepared. Brought her old man. He didn’t say much. Just peeked at the storage, 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 at a café. She paid by transfer. I hit “revoke access” in the app. Car made a final beep. Like a roommate leaving quietly. Felt surreal. Like unplugging a roommate who never left dishes.
Now I drive a simple Civic. No tablets on wheels. No updates. No car that tattles. But I saved enough to fund a vacation. Maybe Greece. Somewhere with no Superchargers. No guilt. Just sun, sea, and zero amps.
Turns out, letting go of a Tesla isn’t about the vehicle. It’s about realizing the future car doesn’t fit your current life. And that’s okay. Some machines need new homes.