You Only Get One Vehicle; just One
Why I think of human development more like maintaining a classic car than fixing a broken one.
Imagine that on your sixteenth birthday someone handed you the keys to a car because that happens in real life every now and then with some teens. They smile and say, "This is the only vehicle you'll ever have."
You understand and believe that there are no trade-ins, no upgrades, no replacing it when it starts making strange noises. No walking into the dealership twenty years from now because you've grown tired of this one. Just this vehicle. For the rest of your life.
How differently would you treat it?
Most of us would become surprisingly attentive. We would notice the unusual vibration. We'd investigate the strange sound before it became an expensive repair. Oil changes wouldn't feel optional. Routine maintenance wouldn't seem like an inconvenience. We would understand something that good mechanics have always known:
Small problems rarely stay small when they're ignored.
And yet, when it comes to our own lives, many of us behave quite differently. We ignore the strange noises. We normalize the warning lights. We tell ourselves we'll deal with it after this busy season. We assume that because we can still function, everything must be fine.
Until one day it isn't.
The Strange Noises
Sometimes the noise sounds like chronic exhaustion. And sometimes it's the same argument with your spouse for the hundredth time. Many of us are eventually struck wondering why success feels less satisfying than we imagined. Or sometimes it's realizing you've become impatient with your children, disconnected from your friends, or strangely unfamiliar to yourself.
Most people notice these things, but far fewer become curious about them.
Instead we hope they'll disappear on their own. And occasionally they do.
More often they become harder—and more expensive—to address later.
You Don’t Need to be Fixed
One of the reasons I've become uncomfortable with much of the self-improvement industry is that it often begins with the assumption that something is fundamentally wrong with you. I don't believe that. When a trusted mechanic listens to your engine, they don't conclude the car is worthless because it's making an unusual sound. They become curious. Then they diagnose and help you understand what's happening.
The goal isn't to shame the vehicle. Ha! That doesn’t work anyway! It's to keep it running well for the long journey ahead. And I think people deserve the same respect. Most of us are simply carrying wear that comes from living.
Loss.
Stress.
Transitions.
Relationships.
Responsibility.
Those things leave marks. It’s just part of this “being alive” thing we are doing for a short period while here.
Maintenance Is Smart — Not Failure
Some people only seek help when the engine has already seized. Whoops! That’s expensive! Others come in for regular maintenance to be preventative. Now, neither approach makes someone better or worse just different styles.
When you tend to a problem does change how much work is required and what it will cost.
Sometimes life calls for nothing more than a tune-up. A thoughtful conversation, a few adjustments., a renewed sense of direction.
But sometimes we're rebuilding something much deeper.
A marriage.
A career.
An identity.
A life after loss.
Both methods (regular maintenance or reactive maintenance) are valid. The mistake is believing we shouldn't need either. The price of ignoring can compound!
Why It Helps to Have another Set of Trained Ears/Eyes
Could you learn to repair much of your own car?
Probably. With enought time and developed capability I have no doubt…we often becom ewhat we repeatedly praactice. There’s enough information online to spend a lifetime learning about yoru vehicle and repairs.
But there comes a point where another set of experienced eyes notices something you can't. I want to stress that this isn’t because of the coach’s brilliance or because they're smarter. It’s simply because they're standing outside the vehicle while you're sitting inside it.
That's how I think about advising.
I'm not trying to drive your life. I'm not interested in creating dependence. If anything, my hope is the opposite. The best mechanic wants to teach you enough about your vehicle that over time you become a more attentive owner.
The best advisor should want the same.
If a familiar problem returns five years from now, my hope isn't that your first thought is,
"I need Peter." It's, "I've seen this before. I know how to begin."
The Long Road
I've always loved road trips. Not because nothing goes wrong, but because inevitably there are adapatations and improvlisations on a road trip. They also remind us that the purpose of a vehicle isn't to sit perfectly preserved in a garage. It's to take us somewhere meaningful.
We'll accumulate scratches. Replace tires, and change oil. We’ll fix things that wear out.
That's not evidence of failure — not even close. On the contrary, it's evidence that we've actually been living.
The same is true of us. Our goal shouldn't be to become flawless. It should be to become increasingly attentive to ourselves, our relationships, and the people we love. Because unlike the cars we drive... There are no trade-ins. No replacements.
Only the remarkable life we've been given.
And I think it's worth taking extraordinarily good care of.