Mostly, I vetted them through sites like Carvana and Vroom, and the occasional walk by a used-car dealer. There were a few close ones, and with each, it felt like this was it. Each was within the framework of what I was looking for, but none were perfect; I was beginning to be flexible on what was important to me. I stopped looking for a sunroof and started searching for cars with higher mileage. I even nixed leather, which was a biggie for me.

A few almost went to contract, but then right before finalizing, I’d be slapped with a $5,000 service surcharge from the third-party site, or I’d discover that insurance would be astronomical because of the “luxury parts,” or I’d be outbid in the ninth hour. Each time, I reframed my criteria.

At some point, when I spoke to someone pleased with their lease, I almost believed myself when I said I’ll never find a car, or at least not one that makes me feel comfortable.

Fast-forward to Wednesday of that same week. I was walking on the avenue of a different part of town, headed toward a work event. I noticed a classic-looking used car dealer shop, shiny and gritty all at the same time. There was a Buick that caught my eye. I inquired about it and the nice car dealer, let’s call him David, told me he’d find out from his partner what the story was and get back to me.

Five minutes later, he called me and let me know that like a bad heart, the engine of the Buick isn’t good. If I were his daughter, he’d pass on this one. But, in true used-car-salesman fashion, he continued, “There’s a small white car I want you to look at.”

“No, thanks. I don’t like white. But thanks for getting back to me.”

On my way back from the work event, I don’t know what drew me, but I figured, let me just see what else is available. I returned to the lot. In the corner, I saw a sporty Volvo. It had character; it wasn’t German, the sticker price seemed right. It was pearly white. When I saw it, I just knew.

That’s the funny thing; they always say when your find “it,” the process just goes, no pulling teeth. That very same hour, I drove it to my mechanic to get the go-ahead, and baruch Hashem, he gave it a thumbs-up, and even helped me finagle a rate with the car dealer. Yalla chabibi.

This little sedan has so much of what I was initially looking for, just in a different package. It’s older than I was prepared to consider initially, but put into the perspective of cars that “live up to 250,000 mileage,” it seems okay. Also, it’s white. I never even entertained the idea of a white car, but this model is iridescent versus stark. As far as features? It has the random pitchafkas that I long gave up on: leather, sunroof… and it doesn’t even have a backup camera!

I learned to be open to the process and am continuously being schooled on the idea that when you least expect it, that’s when the magic happens. Vroom, vroom.

This post is in memory of my grandmother Malka bas Avraham Yaakov, who “sent me this car.” I found it the week of her shivah. She’d be the first to say, “You don’t need a car, but if it makes you happy…” Thank you, Bobby.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 780)