Anthropomorphisation
I love the word 'anthropomorphisation'. It's big enough to sound impressive, but easy enough to break into smaller parts to make sense of it. Like a Scottish accent, it's something I can do in my head, but struggle when I have to actually say it out loud. But most of all, the fact that it exists is like someone calmly saying 'Hey, you know that weird thing you do where you give human characteristics to non-human things? Well, it's actually so common that we felt the need to create a word for it!'
Like so many things we do in our own heads, it's nice to know that you're not the only one doing it.
I'm an anthropomorphisationator from way back. In my school years cricket bats and skateboards were spoken to like they were people, successes and failures were shared between us. Every bike I've owned has had its own personality that I have worked with and around, and I have a vivid memory of thanking my Cannondale 6 for all its help as I finished the bike leg of the Ironman. After all, it was the bike's dedication through long training rides, early starts and endless hours on the cycling trainer that got us through...I was, in every sense, just a passenger. That bike is still in our bike shed because I feel like I would be letting the bike down by selling it...but I feel equally guilty about letting it fall into disrepair. It really deserves better.
When the Crepe Myrtle tree that we bought when Josh was born started to look like it was going to die a few years ago, I had many conversations with it. As if what it somehow needed was a Tony Robbins style inspirational speech and some reassurance....as opposed to more water, and less shade from those gum trees.
I still have the red 'Have a Coke and smile' t-shirt I was wearing the first time I kissed Katie, and take it out of the drawer occasionally to use its talismanic powers to reconnect with the 21 yo who wore it as he embarked on the best part of his life.
But my guiltiest secret is how much I talk to the cars I've owned, as if they were supportive friends. I have quite literally sat in every car and thanked it for all that it's done to help me when it's come time to sell or trade in. Which is, of course, completely insane. The car is not choosing to work or not work, it's not choosing to take me on adventures, it doesn't see us a team, and it certainly isn't going to be sad that we're breaking up. It quite literally can't give a shit.
But I can...and do.
All of this is top of mind, because in the next day or so I will be saying goodbye to our Skoda Superb. I will say to anyone listening, that this is the best car I've ever owned. It's not living and breathing, but it's been the conduit to so many moments that make living and breathing so great! It's taken us on roadtrips through Tasmania and NSW. It's been up in the snow, and down at the beach in the heat of summer. On cold dark nights out taking photos, it's been the warmth and comfort to return to. On family trips to Sandy Point it's been the TARDIS that can fit more stuff in the boot than should be possible. It's taken us to birthdays, weddings and funerals. It's taught Josh how to drive, and at the end of every mid-winter bike ride, or trail run it has started on cue, played the tunes I wanted to listen to, and its seat warmers have gently warmed our frozen butts.
The only reason we're selling it, is so that we can get an EV, and when the EV arrived, after 6 years of never missing a mechanical beat, the Skoda suddenly needed new front suspension...then yesterday, it just wouldn't start and needed a new battery. It's very hard not to see the Skoda as a spurned lover, looking at the car who replaced it and screaming 'HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!!'
But on the bright side, I've sold the car to my Dad, because the best thing you can do when you break up with someone, is manufacture a situation where you continue to see them at every family function!
As advances in AI blur the line further between animate and inanimate objects, perhaps anthropomorphism will become a thing of the past. But in the next few days I'll be taking the time to have a chat with the Skoda and thank it for everything it's done for me...and I'll be secretly glad that it can't talk back.
