They Call Me Auto Ana

They don't. Not yet, at least.

The trip to the annual SEMA/AAPEX automotive conference began on a plane next to a woman in desperate need of a chat. Her friend had passed after having a stroke at the age of 95, sitting at a club, drinking a vodka cranberry, surrounded by friends. They were returning to Vegas to sprinkle her ashes across the strip. As weird as that may sound, I’m sure ashes of loved ones aren’t the most disgusting particles on the strip. What a way to go. What a legacy. A modern-day heroine.

Speaking of modern-day heroines, I have successfully partially rebranded myself as Ana, which I consider quite an accomplishment.* I’m my own largest barrier in this endeavor, because I sometimes forget to introduce myself with the appropriate accent. I think the foreign sound of Ana Navatsyk conjures connotations of German engineering, making me more endearing to my automotive colleagues.

As if I need any help being endearing. I have my father to thank for pontificating over high school football, giving me the easiest ice breaker while talking to the CEO of a manufacturing company based in the Midwest. His son had the state championship winning catch in 2010. Of course, if high school football isn’t relatable, there are always college allegiances, professional allegiances, and, though not as strong yet, undercar replacement parts.

The last time I was in Vegas for a conference was AWS re:Invent with VividCortex. In both cases, I had very little experience with the subject matter of the conference. Maybe one day I’ll go to a conference where I’m an expert – where’s the conference for awkward encounters and embarrassing moments like realizing your shirt has come unbuttoned in the middle of a presentation? I’d run that show. Shockingly, both tech and auto shows were heavily skewed toward males, though I have been told on multiple occasions I'm more masculine than most men, which I choose to take as a compliment. One evening, I dined with eleven men, during which one joked that he was going to take a picture and send it to HR for the diversity portfolio. I ordered the filet Oscar, obviously. And crushed it.

Much like tech conferences, there are two delineations of participants – the back end and front end engineers; the aftermarket and performance manufacturers. The back end and aftermarket are purists, the backbone of the industry. The front end and performance are easy on the eyes, design focused, at times, even flashy. And somewhere in the crowd, diligently taking notes and nodding her head, hoping that her glasses make her appear knowledgeable, I’m learning the function of a query or a tie rod.**

Some things were different, though. Last time, my co-worker was talking me off a ledge over a bloomin’ onion at Outback. I returned home, spent $900 on a GMAT study guide, and threw myself into a contingency plan. This time, I spent four nights out with co-workers, during which no one found out my high school nickname – it’s still a secret, y’all! – didn’t have to explain what my company did – except to those manufacturers that still don’t think Amazon is the greatest company on earth, and ate my yearly quota of filets – though I did miss the bloomin’ onion.

While life looks different than it did three years ago, some things are unchanged. I spent the weekend after the conference in Napa, winery-hopping and chatting with friends. If those three years have embedded any truths, they are these: God will always be faithful, even when you don’t understand how, family will always be family, even when they feel distant, people will always be worth the investment, except when they’re not, and wine will always be delicious*. And if I pass into that other world, sipping wine with good friends, then I have lived a good life. And you can sprinkle my ashes across a vineyard.

*I'm also trying to brand myself as a heroine.
**That's right. I know the function of both a chassis and a tie rod.
*Unless it’s corked.