From July 2016 to July 2017, I put 30,000 miles on my car. My perfectly good Outback that has traveled the roads of America for over 150,000 miles. I love my car.

When I was a freshman, I remember getting into an upperclassman’s car. I don’t remember who it was or where we were going, but I do remember sitting in the car and thinking, “wow, this is a really nice car for a teenager.”

I kept that car in mind as I strolled through parking lots looking at the mix-matched array of 1998 Impalas and brand new Audis. In the sophomore version of me, I felt that I had to get a “nice” car (regardless of the fact that, at the time, I didn’t know the difference between a Ford and a Porsche or the comparison between an Impala and a Malibu). I would be judged. By whom- or for what- I could not say, but I seriously thought it would be the end of everything.

When it came time to look for a car after saving money, literally, since the day I was born, I was quite shocked. Cars are actually that expensive. I searched for weeks trying to find the best car with the lowest miles for the best deal, all along with having safety features my mother would even consider.

2008 Subaru Outback.

Nothing fancy. Nothing overly exciting. It had a built-in GPS, and I thought that was pretty cool when I bought it.

Now, it’s a year later- 34,000 miles later- and there isn’t a single part of me that wishes I had any other car. Most importantly, because it’s a car that can take my foot to the pedal for hours every single day.

In my car, I’ve found the place I will soon call home. In my car, I’ve taken care of people’s lives. In my car, I haven’t used that built-in GPS once. I’ve traveled up north and down south and bought Culver’s probably 100 times over. I’ve made new friends in my car, and I’ve helped out old ones. I’ve seen places I’ve never seen before and made paths on familiar roads.

My car isn’t about how new it is or the horsepower in the engine; my car is about the road less traveled, and the journey it took to get there.