Ever since I was a young boy, I spent a lot of time hanging around garages with my father who took me along to show me how cars work. Him and his guy friends would get excited about new cars coming out and drool over posters of Lamborghinis they would never be able to afford.

And so before I knew it, I was involved in a materialistic lifestyle.

Back when I was still in school, having a cool ride was all that mattered. Well that, and who you were friends with. Most teenagers were given a car as soon as they passed their driver’s licence, and the lucky ones started going on expensive rides most of the parents couldn’t even afford for themselves. I was one of the unlucky kids who didn’t even get a used car.

I was raging with envy, waiting for the summer holidays to get a job and earn enough to fulfill my materialistic desires.

When I was finally able to buy an old banger, none of my friends complemented it. They actually laughed.

Ouch.

I then connected my self esteem to my car and began dreaming of a flashy sports car (in the 90s a red sports car, preferably a convertible, was the shizz,) so no one would laugh at me anymore.

Later on, after I left school, I must have unconsciously made the decision to spend most of my time around fancy cars when I became a car mechanic and landed a job at a garage for luxury cars. I’d spend my days looking at them, talking about them, fixing them, dreaming about them and I always felt I had to have one myself.

Some of my friends who had made better choices in life and were able to afford more luxurious vehicles would still tease me from time to time bragging about their speed records. I just used to laugh it off and say it’s all in the driver’s skill.

But it hurt and it led me to one of the worst decisions in my life.

When I hit 30, I took out a loan and bought what I had always dreamt of. A flashy car. It was a red Porsche Boxster, just like I wanted.

I was thrilled at first. Drove twice as much during the initial few weeks, even going to my local shop to pick up groceries. I would offer to be the designated driver at all family and friend gatherings just to show off my car.

Then, after about four or five months I started to notice how weird and out of place this car looked parked in front of my apartment building which was very run down. I wasn’t rich and this car didn’t match my lifestyle. I noticed my diet getting worse and worse because most of my money went towards paying off the car. My friends may have commented when they first saw my ride, but no one was talking about it anymore and the car was so powerful that I almost had caused an accident, twice.

It made me feel empty. At first I tried pushing these thoughts away but they just kept coming back. My life didn’t drastically change like I thought it would. I didn’t feel better about myself. No one cared about my car. I just felt empty.

As time passed I decided to sell my car just a year after I bought it.

Of course I lost quite a bit on it due to depreciation, but it was enough to pay for the loan I had taken (I put a bit of my own money into it as well). I then decided that I would stick to an ordinary car, something safe, that will take me from point A to point B. I stopped admiring other people’s cars and focused on becoming a better driver for me and my future family.

At a young age we are often too busy caring about keeping up with their appearance, speeding, drifting and making the wrong choices, just to impress others. More than 50% of all fatal car accidents happen among young adults and most of them are caused by males. This toxic masculinity is the reason so many boys feel bad about themselves, just like I did. It forces them to put on a fake facade of bravery and recklessness, putting status and respect above safety. We should all be told from an early age that what we own doesn’t define us. Being a good person does.