Since 2018, I’ve been driving around in a very old Nissan Altima. I tell people she’s humble—held together with a little bit of duct tape, some Gorilla Glue, and a whole lot of character. A sparkly party hat sits on my dashboard, and stickers line the vents. The leather seats are worn, and the dents on the outside remind me of my spotty driving record.

Since graduating college and starting my “big girl” career, people have been telling me it’s time to get a newer car. With a bigger paycheck, they say, I don’t need to drive around without air conditioning and with split-open seats.

I took everyone’s opinions into account. I looked at my old gray blob and started researching potential upgrades. I quickly realized that anything I looked at would be an upgrade—fancy speaker systems, air-conditioned seats, and a car that doesn’t rattle were definitely appealing. But with the upgrade comes the payment: a $500-a-month price tag for the convenience of AC, pretty seats, and a top-tier sound system.

So why am I talking about my super old car? Because all this talk of upgrading got me thinking about satisfaction.

A few weeks ago, during my usual Sunday morning church service, the pastor started talking about money—but not in the way you might expect. He wasn’t asking for it or condemning wealth. Instead, he said the easiest way to find out where your heart is, is to look at where your money goes. After some reflection and a few life adjustments, I realized that heart posture, money, and satisfaction are all deeply connected.

We often view money as the key to satisfying our needs. And in a literal sense, that’s true—we need money for food, clothes, and shelter. In this world, even basic necessities come at a cost. But chasing money can quickly become an endless pursuit of things that never truly satisfy. There’s some truth to the phrase “more money, more problems.” I’ve come to believe that real satisfaction doesn’t come from a bank account full of zeros.

So how does this all tie back to my old Nissan?

Well, after a few days of car shopping, I noticed something shift. My appreciation for cars with air conditioning and better gas mileage quickly turned into a longing for sporty models and luxury brands. Suddenly, the idea of an “upgrade” had to be a major one in order to satisfy me. And I didn’t like that. The thought of getting a new car started to feel irrational and silly. I looked at my gray blob and reminded myself that air conditioning is a convenience—not a necessity. Rolling the windows down and using a little fan would be just fine. I needed to learn to be satisfied with what I had instead of constantly longing for more.

What I love most about this whole car fiasco is that exactly 48 hours after I decided that buying a new car was just me chasing satisfaction in the wrong place, a dirt-cheap mechanic—willing to fix my AC for way less than I’d been quoted elsewhere—basically fell into my lap. I can’t help but see that for the blessing it was.

Once I changed my heart and chose to be satisfied with what I had, what I really wanted worked itself out. Sure, my car still has a bit more duct tape and Gorilla Glue than most others on the road—but now, the air conditioning works, and I’m more than satisfied.