666 words
Time of Writing: Sunday, August 30th, 2026

 

Note: This article is dedicated to the dozens of people who, over the years, helped make the cabin of my vehicles a safe haven from matters which stalk and trouble us. Without your outstanding character, the efforts that went into making such an environment may never have taken place.

The realm of hospitality is usually confined as to strictly pertaining to one’s home. A few weeks ago, it was brought to my attention that this could not be further from the truth when a string of humans, some strangers to one another, claiming that my car was their safe space. This safe space extended outwards to other drivers and pedestrians, who at every instance, were safely given grace and the right of way.

This was not by accident.

The previous decade, the cabins of both my cars, one a luxury sedan, the other a convertible sports car with the suspension travel of Mountain People in rural Georgia, became the mediums of transit between their personal and professional spaces, and that of being injected with targeted toxins and radiation to keep the Emperor of Maladies at bay. Very quickly, I came to the realization that my car was the one space where my friends and family could escape. They would buckle into the seat, which was already set for them, sink within the perforated leather bolsters like a lakeside hammock, and exhale.

Once underway, all inputs were smoothed out; the left foot would feather the brake in the vehicles whose software would accommodate all pedals being danced upon at once, and we weren’t in a rush. If we would arrive late to dinner, our friends would receive a comical ETA of three days in the future, knowing to order without us.

We’d be there, eventually, yet we’re always and already present.

Just as close friends would come to rely on my home as an escape from a recent divorce or being passed up for promotion yet again at work, my cars became such a haven. The added benefit of creating such a safe space within a car is that it becomes a conduit towards making the rest of the world a safe space as well.

Certain coffee shops, stores, and restaurants and their beautiful staff would quickly become associated with the joy of being safe. A couple of hours before putting these words to paper, the staff of a frequented Starbucks gave me a nickname. Warm feelings abound; the feeling of hospitality extends out to a large group of bikers who are handed extra pastries from the back of my wagon, and every single person that is greeted by my wagon is treated to the grace one would only wish for on the worst of their days on this planet.

This is what makes the atrocious misstep by companies such as BMW inserting advertisements for the new Spiderman movie into their cars, without the consent of the cars’ owners. Cars are a deeply personal space that have the underappreciated faculty to heal.

As self-driving technologies eventually blur the lines between personal and public transit, I fear that the art of hosting those one cherishes outside of one’s home will be lost. Notions of long Sunday drives, let alone summer road trips, are now a long-distant memory as gas and electricity prices surge on the whim of incompetent global leaders waging unnecessary conflicts upon others. The irony of the recent BMW misstep is that vehicles used to be much more than a tool to exert one’s rage on others while in a safe metallic cage. We used to go to drive-in movie theatres and watch entire movies as servers went car to car, taking orders from local teens working their summer jobs.

I fear that the nuance and opportunity that cars have given us are going to be lost as ownership over one’s actions are removed from the experience. We will no longer be able to transport the ones we care about away from their worries and give them a reprieve from the horrors of their routines.

As a petrolhead, I do not mourn the loss of driving as an act if cars are ever lost to us. I will miss providing the haven that it has long given me and those whom I care about.