Tesla Goodbye: How I Sold My Tesla And Kept My Sanity

I didn't get rid of my Tesla. I let it go. Like a turtle going back into the ocean. But this one had horsepower that mocked physics and liked to beep at stop signs like it was judging me.

It all began with regret. Not feeling guilty about morals. onlyusedtesla.com Guilt about money. I felt like I was feeding a dragon made of lithium and pride every time I pulled into a Supercharger. I would say, “Eighteen dollars for juice,” as I watched the meter whirl. “That’s a used guitar, right there.”

After that, there was silence. No engine. No sound. Just smooth rolling. Calm? Yes. Until you find out that peace has hidden costs. The insurance rose. Tires cost more than my first car did. And don’t even get me started on those “minor” body repairs that emptied my wallet when some idiot hit the door in the parking lot of righteousness.

I love the technology. The upgrades that arrive unannounced. It self-parks badly but proudly. But after three years, it felt ordinary. Like a gadget that lost its spark. It still works. It’s just not special anymore.

So I made up my mind: it’s time to let go. I thought it would be easy. “Hey world, I’ve got a shiny, well-kept Tesla, a maintenance record, and a hint of coconut air freshener.” Nope. Reality slapped me awake.

First, the trade-in offer from Tesla. I chuckled. Then I refreshed the page. Then I shed tears in my flat white. They offered less than a secondhand minivan with a DVD player and duct tape on the back. Their pricing bot must assume I live in a cave and don’t know how to look up pricing on Google.

So I went DIY. Put it on all the sites. EV forums. Craigslist. That strange website where people use cryptocurrencies and emojis to buy cars. “Tesla Model S: Fast, Fresh, Finders Keepers.” More pictures. One of just the car. One with me standing too close with a forced smile. That one is gone. It looked like a bad dating profile.

There were tons of messages. Some real. Some junk.  
“Is it able to fly?”  
“Will you take payment in Bitcoin or soul?”  
“My dog can tell when EVs have bad energy. Can I take him for a test drive?”  

One guy arrived looking unprepared. Took out a multimeter. He looked at the 12V battery like he was defusing a bomb. “Well,” he said. Readings acceptable.” Then he offered pocket change. He said, “The market is flooded.” What a guy.

At last, I met Lisa. Calm. Ready. Had a spreadsheet. She asked me about the wear on my tires, the latest update, and if I had ever used Track Mode (I hadn’t). Too afraid. We argued. Politely. Like two grown-ups. Unheard of.

Paperwork signed in a coffee shop. She paid by instant transfer. I turned off my key fob. It felt odd. Like cutting a digital umbilical cord.

I walked home. The next day, I took the bus. It felt weird. Very noisy. Not fast. But also… free. No more late-night system restarts. No more supercharger shame.

Selling a Tesla isn’t merely a business deal. It’s emotional. You’re not just selling a machine. You’re saying goodbye to the version of you that imagined perfection was four wheels and a battery.