I have made many decisions in my life that I now regret in either whole or part, but I take comfort in realizing that I made very few actual bad decisions.

Allow me to clarify. I regret leaving a good job at Lockheed Martin for what would become a terrible experience at DuPont. Even now, knowing what I know, I would probably make the same decision. I was in a weird too-many-bosses power dynamic at Lockheed Martin, and DuPont called me unexpectedly with a job offer that promised interesting work, good money and flexibility. Unfortunately, only one of those things turned out to be true, until I joined a lay-off, which I might get into one day. Terrible experience. I regret—in the sense that I made a choice that had certain unfavorable outcomes—taking that offer.

But if I were presented the same data today (from a different employer, of course), I’d jump at it. It was a learning experience, which I might also get into one day. So, I regret it. But it wasn’t a bad decision.

I regret leaving the National Science Foundation to finish my MA back in the 90s. Ultimately, it led to some great things, but I still wonder if I would have ever gotten to go to Antarctica, if I stayed. It wasn’t a mistake. Or a bad decision, but decisions often come with regrets. And that’s normal.

As the Internet is my witness (and my wife if she still reads this nonsense), I think buying a used 2014 Ford Focus in 2015 was a bad decision. I needed a car to get to work, and it was indeed a car that would take me from Jenkintown, Pa., to Moorestown, N.J., efficiently and affordably. It was just off-lease from an elderly driver who only put 12,000 miles on it in the previous year. I felt like a good, frugal consumer. I read a couple of reviews that seemed to suggest it was an adequate car.

I took a test drive and even then, I felt the transmission was a little slippy. Turns out, the Ford Focus has a lot of transmission issues.

Here’s the twist, dear reader, the mistake—the bad decision—I made was in not getting a worse car. You see, I don’t spend a lot on the Focus other than routine maintenance.

It has held up OK. Every so often, the transmission will slip terribly, and the nice people at the local dealership will replace it for free. (And apparently, if that had happened twice more before a recent deadlne, Ford would have bought it back–I should have complained more often to the dealer.) Hell, they’re within walking distance. This car hasn’t really cost me much.

It hasn’t gotten me much either, other than to and from work. However, my bad decision resulted from choosing my vanity over frugality. I could have bought a used Corolla with, perhaps, more miles, but better reliability. I could have gotten something with a few more dings and scratches. Instead, I wanted to be cheap but “respectable.”

Screw respectable. I needed a beater and I should have bought one.

Now, unfortunately, the Focus is my sole hoopty. It is a bit cramped for the kids and the dog, but our beloved Saturn Vue died unexpectedly last year—it has to do with rabies and a flying deer, which I might also get into one day. With the lay-off and the fact that everyone has been home for the last 9 months, this hasn’t really been issue.

In fact, today I’m really impressed with all the shit I got into my Focus, including:

  • Roughly a quarter cord of wood (if you define a cord at about 240 pieces)
  • A 20 lb canister of CO2 gas (food grade) that I’ve hooked up to the Sodastream (so far it works and nothing has exploded).
  • Groceries from Joe’s meats (chorizo tacos tonight, stew tomorrow with the snow)
  • A 10 gallon terrarium, plus lid, lamp, water bowl and other assorted things for my daughter’s Crimbo pressie.

My in-laws are aghast at my car choices. (They also think Jenkintown is a high crime area, but there you go.) I know this and I’m grateful for Alyson in supporting my regrettable, bad or (on rare occasion) good decisions.

The plan is to trade in the Focus eventually to get a commuter car for Aly. She had a Civic before kids and misses it desperately. I’d be happy for her to be happy. It is a bit of a hike.

We’ll do that by June when she will be expected to be present more often for her new job. Then I’ll buy a legit beater—an SUV or (Crom-forbid) minivan—with too many miles on it that we can haul Scouts and ourselves for camping trips.