Driven by Significance

His name was Tony.

Tony was one of those car guys who made you feel like buying a car wasn’t just a transaction — it was an initiation into an exclusive fraternity. He was a private car dealer who didn't just work with any 'Average Joe'. You had to be somebody to get to Tony.

He grew up around his parents’ pharmacy, so he had a soft spot for doctors. And when he heard I was a young psychiatrist, just a year out of residency, he leaned in like he had something special just for me.

“You’ll love this one, man. Barely been driven. The owner was a Delta pilot. He’d drive it to Hartsfield, park it in the garage, fly his shifts, then drive it back home and tuck it in his own garage. Guy took immaculate care of it.”

When I finally saw it, I realized Tony wasn’t lying. The car was beautiful. A grey, 2011 BMW M3 coupe. Sleek, intimidating, with just enough menace in its headlights to whisper: You’ve arrived.

If “Look Mom, I made it!” was a car, this was it.

I happily traded in my Mazda and took the keys to my first “luxury” car. I was a doctor now. And in my mind, I had to look the part.

My wife and I had just moved to Atlanta earlier that year. She had finished grad school, I had finished residency, and we found the coolest apartment we could afford in the trendiest part of town.

You could feel the vibes in the air — restaurants popping, music flowing, the whole “young professional” scene buzzing with energy.

And the M3? It was the finishing touch. The exclamation mark on our new chapter.

I loved that car. I felt like “somebody” every time I drove it. I knew people were looking. I could just feel it. And sometimes, they would actually say something:

“Cool car!” — if they were just casual admires, or...

“Is that a V8?” — from the more seasoned car enthusiasts.

It sure was. A 414-horsepower, six-speed manual transmission V8 at that.

I didn't have to say much. The engine spoke... rather, ROARED... for itself.

But you and I both know that chasing significance in material things is a slippery slope.

We weren’t keeping up with the Joneses exactly. We didn’t even care what the Joneses were doing. It was more like a quiet entitlement that said: We sacrificed long enough. We worked hard enough. We deserve this.

So we spent. The nice apartment. The nice car. The nice everything. And for a while, it felt good.

Until it didn’t.

We fell victim to lifestyle creep, and reality eventually came knocking.

Overspending. Student loans. Credit card debt. Bills that never stopped arriving. I was suddenly paying for things that didn’t bring me joy — but were part of my “responsibilities” as an adult.

And after three years, I traded in that beautiful car for something more economical.

I’ll be honest — I felt defeated.

That car had become more than a car. It was my status. My proof. My little trophy that whispered, You matter. Letting it go felt like letting go of significance itself.

But here’s a truth I've learned as I've gotten older:

Significance built on things will always betray you.

Because it’s never enough. There’s always another level. Another upgrade. Another tier.

Country clubs. First-class tickets. VIP sections. Exclusive memberships. Everything in our culture is designed to teach us that the best things in life are reserved for the ones who can “pay to play.”

Forbes comes out with their list of billionaires, and we marvel at their lifestyles. But where’s the list of the kindest people? The most honest? The ones who quietly use their resources to elevate others?

I guess those values don’t sell as many magazines.

Not long ago, I came across an Instagram post that reframed the idea of “luxury.”

It said the real luxuries in life are things like:

• Time.
• Health.
• A quiet mind.
• Slow mornings.
• The ability to travel.
• A house full of love.

Imagine that. To be rich in things that can’t be swiped, financed, or repossessed.

Now that I’m a father, I’m rethinking what significance looks like for me.

My son has never once asked how much money I make. But he often asks: “Daddy, can you play with me?”

He doesn’t want my car. He doesn’t want my title. He doesn’t care about exclusivity.

He wants my presence.

And the truth is, that’s what I really wanted all along too. Connection. Love. Peace. A sense of meaning that couldn’t be taken away by a car trade-in.

I’m not saying I’ve sold everything to live in a tiny house and reject material things. We still enjoy nice things. But they’re no longer the measure of my worth.

Because my worth isn’t for sale.

I am significant because God said so.

Because He declared that I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Because He had a plan for me before I was even formed in my mother’s womb.

And no car — no matter how fast, loud, or shiny — could ever give me that.

So now it's your turn: What’s your "M3"?

What’s the thing you’re tempted to chase for significance, only to find it doesn’t last?

And what would it look like to trade it in for the things that actually do?

Let this be your invitation to reframe your priorities, and pursue richness in the things that money could never buy. 💜🙏🏾

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