I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a car guy. Not in a detailed or comparative sense. I couldn’t tell you anything about gear ratios, wheelbase, fuel injection, or anything like that. I’d be lucky if I could figure out how to change a tire. I can’t change my own oil. Or brakes. But I do like cars.

Memories fade for me, but one set that I think will always remain fresh in my mind are the days I buy a car. I remember all of them. When I bought my first car, a Crystal Pearl White ’99 Honda Prelude. It was a 5-speed. The first time I ever drove stick was when I bought it and had to get it home.

My first S2000, a 2003 black on black, was special. I remember the evil cackle I bellowed as I hit the highway and let the RPMs pass 8,000 with the top down. I felt so damn cool.

I remember the keys of my 1971 Corvette being dropped into my hand for the first time. A 4-speed, 430 horsepower beast that had absolutely no practical application. Red on black, frame-on restoration. I had always wanted one since I was a kid, and there it was. Halorin license plates and all. I still remember watching it burn, and being told I was lucky to be alive.

I remember the second S2000 I bought. A return to form of sorts, after a few events in my life kicked me pretty good.

And of course, when I bought Mary Jane.

Mary Jane is a 2011 Chevy Camaro. 6-speed (of course), V6. White with black stripes. She was perfect; a succinct mix of every car I’ve ever purchased. Its interior designed harkened back to the visual styling of my Corvette. It’s 2-door coupe frame reminded me of my Prelude, and it had the kick and acceleration of my S2000.

When I was about to drive off the lot, I put on the radio and Christmas in Hollis by Run DMC was just finishing up. It was fitting, seeing as how I bought the car on Christmas Eve. The song that came on right after was Mary Jane by Rick James. I put together an epic Rick James costume years past, even sang karaoke dressed up like that. So he’s become something of my spirit animal. It only felt right to name the car, something I had never done before.

I’ve tried my best to baby this car, but in the back of my mind I’ve always been worried that I’d mess it up somehow. My clumsiness would scratch it or dent it or something. That it was in the wrong hands. That I didn’t deserve it. And all of those feelings came to a head Tuesday.

Coming out of my work parking garage, I cut a corner too sharp and dented my rear right quarter panel pretty good. I’ve never done anything like that before, and here I am less than 6 months into owning my favorite car I’m ruining it.

A swell of dread rose within me. It was like some mark of shame. It was a representation of my failure to do one thing right. I felt bad. I stood there looking at the damage, and let out a long sigh. I was surprised by what came next. I hopped in MJ, drove over to a body shop, and dropped it off to get fixed. $653.04. Ouch.

The owner of the shop gave me a ride back home. It wasn’t far away. I watched him drive off and it hit me. I was fortunate enough to have a job that allowed me to get Mary Jane in the first place, and to be able to fix her up right away. Just because I had an accident in it doesn’t make it any less awesome, and I haven’t ruined the car forever.

It felt reminiscent of the human spirit in a lot of ways for me. I am far from perfect. Life has dealt me its share of scars, both physical and emotional. And yet, I’m still here. I pull myself together, rise up, and continue to move forward. The blemishes and imperfections are in a lot of ways badges of pride than something to be ashamed of.

I so passionately pursue perfection in so many things for some form of validation that I forget sometimes that it’s okay to just be me. I’ve made a lot of progress in being comfortable in my own skin, and feeling good about myself but I have work to do still.

It’d be really nice to feel like people accept me for who I am, and that they genuinely care about me. But if any one person on the planet does, it has to be me. I have to not shy away from my imperfections. I have to accept everything about who I am, and improve where I can. Keep my head held high.

I got Mary Jane back this afternoon and she looks great. You’d never know something happened to her. But I know. Mary Jane and I have been through some things. She may not be perfect in the sense I had hoped for, but she is a perfect representation of me. And no other car will be exactly like her.

Part of me worries I will always question my worth and value, but I learned more about myself out of this.