1972 Datsun 240Z Restoration Project

Some would say it was by pure luck that we stumbled into this opportunity. I believe, however, that it was by manifestation...Both of us, my boyfriend Thomas, and I, had been yearning to return to building cars, just like we had in our younger years, long before we were parents...long before we had ever even met one another. We weren't craving to build just any 'ol car, though. No, we were aching to build something different...something special...

For several years, the yearning never left me. My ’84 Toyota Celica Supra, Rockie — my first real love — sat quietly in the driveway, verious pieces of her engine and suspension gone, stolen by soulless jerks looking for a quick come-up. Her spirit sat there, sad and waiting. I would pass her every day, aching to bring her back to life, to feel that spark again. But life made me wait. Maybe the universe was testing me, asking if my hunger to build, to create, to drive something alive was strong enough to survive the silence.

People laughed when I said I wanted to be paid to work on a classic JDM car — something from the golden age, a Z or maybe even another Supra. They said I was smoked, told me to keep dreaming. But Thomas never doubted me. He knew that kind of love doesn’t burn out.

Then, on September 2nd, fate finally answered. Hidden among the chatter of the Nextdoor app was a single post from an elderly Vietnam veteran. His body could no longer keep up with the car he had started, and he needed someone to finish it. His car was no ordinary car — They called her a Fairlady — though in America, she wore the name Datsun 240Z.

This one arrived in 1972 like a secret too good to keep, her long hood and fastback lines rivaling the beauty of Italian exotics, but with a price that placed her within reach of dreamers. Light on her feet, quick to respond, she didn’t just follow the road — she became one with it.

She wasn’t just any car. She was Japanese born, carrying with her the spirit of a new era. Where American Muscle roared with brute force, she whispered with elegance, balance, and precision. Her kind didn’t live for the quarter mile — they lived for the curves of mountain passes, for the symphony of high-revving engines echoing against canyon walls.

I didn’t hesitate. I told him Thomas and I would love to finish what he began, that this was not just our work, but our calling. The very next morning, he called me back. That afternoon, we stood in his garage, face-to-face with the build opportunity of my dreams. By September 4th, we were turning wrenches, the Supra’s quiet longing behind me, and the Fairlady’s smile ahead. This wasn’t luck. This was manifestation made real. The dream I had carried for more than a year — to build a classic JDM icon, to be paid to do so — had arrived. And she was everything I had ever hoped for: beautiful, untamed, and waiting for us to give her a name & bring her back to life.*