Letting go...almost

It’s funny how something once essential can slowly become a question mark. The track car and trailer have been part of my routine, part of my identity, with early starts, the hum of tyres on bitumen, and the quiet focus before heading out onto the track. Selling them feels practical, even logical. Less time, fewer commitments, and space reclaimed in the garage. And yet, the decision refuses to settle. I find myself circling the idea, weighing what I’d gain against what I’d lose. There’s the reality of how often I actually get out on track these days, compared with the intention I always carry. Life has a way of squeezing in, quietly filling weekends with other priorities. But then I picture the empty space left behind, not just physically, but the absence of that outlet, that ritual.

Indecision lingers in the in-between moments, a quiet tug of uncertainty that refuses to let go. Listing it for sale feels final, like closing a chapter; not listing it feels like avoidance, a hesitation to face the inevitable. I tell myself I can always come back to it later, start again when the time is right, when I feel more certain. But I know deep down that it’s never quite the same, never as easy as it seems in my mind. For now, the car sits in silence, ready but untouched, waiting for a decision that feels increasingly difficult to make. And I sit with the dilemma, weigh my options, and finally feel ready to let it go.