Why am I doing this?

I often ask myself why I'm repairing my old car.  Practically, it makes little sense.  I mean, it's 43 years old. It won't have cruise control, or anti-lock brakes.  It won't ever handle that well.  And if the engine turns out to be anything close to as powerful as I want it to be, it may be hard to just keep it on the road.

Being something of a pragmatist, I find myself often posing the question, "why?"

There's not one answer I can really give.  I feel it has to be done for a few reasons.  Aesthetically I find this car to be beautiful.  Almost elegant, really.  Which is a horrible thing to say of a "muscle car".  I don't necessarily think all generation one Camaros have this quality.  Honestly, I don't think this of most Camaros, to be sure.  There's something of a "hillbilly" reputation that Camaros come with.  Part of the appeal is to see how far I can break away from that stigma and still have something quintessentially American/GM.  There's an interesting tension in there.

However there is something about *my* car that has poise.  The long sloping nose, the square jutting hood scoop.  The arched haunches, and feminine-tapered grace of the roof line.  You'd be hard pressed to find a better looking American car of the late 60's.

But aesthetics only go so far.  I also love that this project is so tangible.  I'm using my hands to make something physical... very physical.  This is a vast departure from my day job... all mental gymnastics and repetition (depending on the day).  Where as my job is pensive and and collaborative, the car is a lot of isolation and testosterone.

Speaking of which, there's something inherently manly about it rebuilding a car.  Which I'll be happy to brag about to my guy friends when I'm finished.  In a time when masculinity is often looked at in the pejorative, the preservation and enhancement of a vintage vehicle is a worthy cause.  Some balk at the amount of gas it will surely consume.  To them I say, "I drive a Civic."  I even ride my bike to work in the summer.  Further, having an interesting project close to home keeps me from driving up and down I-5 every weekend, and may, in some ways, save gas.

Finally, it's something worth owning.  I've found increasingly difficult to find things worth owning.  By that, I mean: what could I pass on to my grandkids (should I be so blessed).  It seems America has gone the way of the quick and cheap.  Not much stands the test of time.  I can't really think of a single "future antique" that I own.  This makes me sad.  Modern cars mostly plastic; disposable.  I love the thought of this car being driven 20 or 30 years down the road.  I don't often feel like I've done much in my life worth doing.  There's something in a man that wants to leave a legacy.  Perhaps this will be a part of mine.