I didn’t sell my Tesla. I exorcised it. Like a spirit that feeds on electricity. It rested outside. Glossy. Wordless. Mocking me. 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 on a wave of hype. Call it eco-impulse. Try now 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. Insurance. 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 simple. Famous last words.
Tesla’s trade-in quote came in worse than a pawn shop estimate — and he still thinks VHS is a streaming service. I stared at the number. Cackled. Then cried into a reusable shopping bag. Was this really all my future car depreciated to?
So I went rogue. Listed it all over the internet. Marketplace. Threads where strangers fight over kilowatts. One guy messaged: “Does it come with a guru subscription?” Another wanted to see if it hummed at night.
First real bite: Mark. Beanie. Owns multiple Teslas. Showed up with a laptop, not cash. Ran checks. Checked firmware version. Said, “Outdated build. Risky.” Offered $7K under asking. “Market’s flooded,” he said. “Too many Teslas chasing too few charging spots.” Left in his budget EV. I felt insulted by proxy.
Then Emily. Calm. 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 parasitic draw?” I told him yes, about a little each night. He turned to her. “Good sign. Means it’s healthy.” Sold.
Signing paperwork at a café. She paid instantly. I hit “revoke access” in the app. Car made a final beep. Like a farewell. Felt surreal. Like unplugging a roommate who never left dishes.
Now I drive a gas car. No tablets on wheels. No updates. No car that tattles. But I saved enough to book a trip. Maybe Spain. Somewhere with nothing but sun. No guilt. Just beaches and silence.
Turns out, letting go of a Tesla isn’t about the machine. It’s about realizing the future car doesn’t fit your current life. And that’s okay. Some futures belong to other people eventually.