I used this one for a college application. The prompt was, "What is your one-sentence philosophy on life?" This was apparently good enough to merit a full-ride scholarship, so if it can't convince you to drive an old British sports car, I don't know what will!
"Happiness is a Warm MG"
by Cameron VanDerHorst
Happiness is a warm MG. My one-sentence philosophy on life is a simple one, albeit a tad abstract. First, allow me to explain myself. An MG is a classic British sports car, produced between 1925 and 1980 in Abingdon-on-Thames, England. My MG is a 1974 model, known as an MGB. It’s a classy white convertible, with round headlamps and a grille that appears to be smiling at you, almost as if it’s begging you for a ride. Many companies have made sporty convertibles that are faster, more comfortable, and more luxurious. An MG-driving friend once told me that “If you want a reliable roadster, buy a Mazda Miata. If you want a car with character, buy or restore an MG. That’s why we name them.” With that being said, I christened my MGB “Charlotte.”
Driving my MG is a wonderful experience, as well as a veritable sensory overload. With her top down, you get to smell all of those special “old car smells,” as well as the outside air – freshly cut grass in the spring and summertime, or the rich aroma of burning wood in autumn. There are special sounds as well. Each stoplight is a chance to hear the symphony of her eager-to-please 1800CC engine. Responsive as a well-trained terrier, she roars to life; right up to redline, when my air cleaners produce a high-pitched whistle, signaling the time for a change of gear. A quick flick of the stick puts her in a good position to repeat the process. I have no stereo in my MG – her well-tuned engine is music to my ears.
Sound and smell are sufficiently exciting in my MG, but in truth they are only part of the motoring experience. The car becomes an extension of me. Upon entering the car, I tighten my seat belt, which buckles with a satisfying “click.” I pull the choke knob and give it a twist before starting the car. I turn the key and twist the knob back before thumbing the big green and black rocker switch for my headlights. My left hand grasps the sporty leather-wrapped three-spoke steering wheel, while my right hand casually falls into place on the walnut shift knob. I am already smiling, and I haven’t even left my driveway yet!
Stoplights are also special for another reason. No matter what they’re doing, everyone stops to stare at the little white roadster, and almost everyone smiles. How many times has the fellow next to you at the light hung up his cell phone to ask you about what you’re driving? Kids hang out of school bus windows and wave. Little old ladies walking down the sidewalk turn and smile. Middle-aged guys in other sports cars grin and give you a thumbs up. Although I have brightened their outlook for a brief moment, one of their smiles makes my whole day. Once I get home and park Charlotte in her garage for a well-deserved rest, I give her a little pat on the fender –sometimes a kiss – and I feel the warmth of her engine, still hot from running. I catch my reflection in the windshield, and my grin is a mile wide. Happiness is a warm MG.
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