You’ll sell your first car someday and feel weird about it. Things hold the years we spent with them.

Objects pick up the time you spend inside them. A car is just metal until it has held a few hundred drives, arguments, songs and late pickups, and then handing it over feels like more than a sale. The strange feeling is not about the car, it is about the span of life it contained.

When you let something like that go, take one photo and name a few things that happened in it. Then let it go without apologising for feeling odd about it.