After eleven years driving the same car, I'm ready to get rid of it. This isn't a decision I take lightly; I've been mulling it over for years. Previously, I was hesitant to sell it because I dreaded the thought of shopping for and buying a replacement. After relentlessly hurling money at student loan and credit card debt over the past five years, I'm not eager to add a new monthly expense. Never mind all the additional costs associated with owning and using a car: insurance, registration, gas, maintenance...
It's always something unexpected. Car ownership is a financial liability. And frankly, I've come to despise my 2001 Mustang. It's obnoxiously loud, it eats up gas, the power windows are fried, the stereo is half-disconnected, and the (annoyingly small) interior is just a mess. Plenty of this is my fault; I'll admit I'm not always the cleanest or most attentive person. But at the end of last year, it wouldn't start and I didn't even want to know why. I was fed up with the thing.
Honestly, I was a little worried the situation was going to spiral out of control. I've been without a car before, and it tends to leave me feeling helpless. In this case, Stevie and I worked down the street from each other, so carpooling was no problem. And I already had a steady job that granted me the luxury of being able to work from home. If all else failed, I figured I could just get a bus pass and get by until I found the right car.
I've never been a car guy, so my idea of "the right car" more hinges on utility. This time around, I think my raging technophilia started to take over, along with my green sensibilities. Thanks to the spacious interior, ultra-low emissions, and the DIY chic of home charging capabilities, I fell in love hard and fast with the Ford C-Max Energi. Browsing the listings on websites and apps became my new obsession. I really dove into the research: differences in the years and models, add-on features, tech specs for the batteries and charging systems, and I even had a color and trim in mind.
I drove a hundred miles to test drive one, and it was everything I'd dreamed. While waiting for the salesman to return from a quick call, I connected my phone to the car's Bluetooth and called someone to test it; it worked perfectly. The car started completely silently, and I could feel the distinct pull of the electric motor when I eased onto the accelerator. The salesman was pretty easygoing, which made the ride extra nice. He showed me touch screen controls, dash displays, "premium" sound--everything I'd been missing from my own driving experience for the last decade. When pulling back in, he even showed me how to use the automatic parallel parking (not that I need it...). It was all there.
This isn't an advertisement for the C-Max or anything. But I cannot stress enough that I was in love with this car. While I was in the process of haggling for the one I'd test-driven, someone else nabbed it. It felt almost like losing my car again. I despaired for a few days.
That gave me pause. Why was I so obsessed with this thing? My car had never been an important part of my life, except insofar as it got me where I was going. Sure, it was no secret that my current car was past its prime. People around me were relieved I was finally replacing it. Everyone was encouraging me to find the right car, get the right price, don't settle because it's something you'll use every day... But upon reflection, I realized I was already getting by without it.
And there it was. The hidden assumption I'd been missing: that I needed a car. It suddenly disturbed me that I hadn't thought to question this. So I challenged myself to do exactly that.
First, I took a step back from car shopping. I still browsed every few weeks for great deals, but my interest waned as I started exploring the alternatives. A city bus pass was only $80 per year--less than the registration for a car, and I wouldn't even have to drive. Stevie had bought me a bicycle, which could be easily brought into riding shape for next to nothing. Both options were more environmentally friendly than driving, and my commute time (as measured by Google Maps) was actually about the same time on a bike as in a car.
My experience with the bus wasn't great. But that was mostly my fault. I didn't quite understand the naming conventions (a color and a number?), always fumbled my money from my pocket, kept forgetting to request stops... I started to get used to it, but I never quite perfected it. In some ways, it required more attention than I was willing to give at the time. I did, however, start listening to a few good podcasts on this longer, less active commute.
Slightly more successful were my cycling adventures. Aside from dropping my coffee thermos repeatedly, I didn't have too many issues. It had been a few years, so I started out exclusively using sidewalks rather than roads (since, thankfully, Champaign allows either). Some of the busier intersections made me a little nervous. As it got warmer, I started using streets more to avoid bothering pedestrians. May was "Ride Your Bike to Work Month," which I embraced fully. Not too bad, but... Drivers are terrible.
Despite enjoying myself throughout this experiment, I got the strong impression that I was missing something important.
My whole life, I've been a walker. Growing up in an almost-rural neighborhood, I had to walk several miles (partly along highway) to reach anything that wasn't a home, school, church, bar, or convenience store. It was my natural mode of transportation by the time I was in high school.
More importantly, walking has always been my go-to way of relieving stress. Long before I discovered gaming, music, writing, programming, or other such outlets, walking was it. And it's always stuck with me. My life story is a series of walks: around the neighborhood, through the woods, across fields, along highways... All around town to visit friends, parks, and local stores... To class, to work, to parties... Occasionally in odd places, like on top of buildings or through sewers... Up mountains, into caves, through rain and snow...
But for various reasons, I'd gotten out of this habit in the last few years. Around 2014, when we moved into our "country home" outside Charleston and I no longer had regular classes (or, really, a regular job), walking became both less convenient and less necessary than when we'd lived in town. Then in 2015 I got a job in Champaign, which meant I had to drive to work a few days a week (though thankfully not every day--again, a privilege of remote work). By the time we moved up to Champaign, I was just in the habit of driving.
And everything else aside, I'd been in a bit of a funk since starting a full-time job. So even after the whole car-shopping fiasco and the subsequent reflection, it took an emotional catalyst to bring me to my senses.
That moment came on a particularly cold, wet day in March when I was trying to take the bus home. I had worked later than normal, so the route was unfamiliar to me. True to form, I missed the stop, then missed the subsequent bus I was supposed to catch. My phone battery was dead, and I didn't have a good map (mental or otherwise) of the bus routes. After pacing on the sidewalk in sheer bewilderment for a minute, I started walking. Stomping. Angrily.
My mind was racing, and I had no respite. I cursed the public transit system for its complexity, along with my own idiocy for getting myself into this situation. For a while I looked for another bus stop, cursing helplessly at every bus that passed. I cursed the cold and the dark and the light sprinkle of rain that had begun. I cursed a construction sign that flashed, impairing my low-light vision as I walked past.
At that point, I stopped in my tracks to take stock. Hurling insults at inanimate objects in the rain, I decided, was not a great look. This was clearly not my best moment, and something had to give. Somewhere within this pause, the cracks in my perspective showed. It suddenly occurred to me, I like walking. So why was this so difficult?
Because of my expectations.
Working forty hours a week had brought me into a mindset of time scarcity. I had been trying so hard to maximize my productivity that I'd lost track of the things I enjoyed. I'd refused to consider walking because it took too long, and that time is important. Never mind that my evenings were often spent watching TV or playing video games. It was my time, and I wanted to control it.
And on that realization, I let go. No problem. After a moment's consideration, I figured it would take another 20 minutes to get home. Taking up a more deliberate stride, I drew a deep breath and started singing to myself--Music of the Night from Phantom of the Opera--as I continued my walk. Miraculously, by the time I was home, I was in a pretty great mood.
I subsequently started walking to work a couple days a week. Sometimes I'd listen to some music or a podcast; others, I'd just enjoy the scenery. I started to appreciate my surroundings more. It turns out Champaign is beautiful. In the 2.5 miles between my house and my office I discovered a vast array of well-groomed yards and gardens, interesting house styles, and public parks. To appeal to my rebellious nature (and because straight lines are faster), I've taken to cutting across the nearby golf course. Sometimes I'll take different routes just to see what I've been missing. I've met several friendly animals, including one very quiet front-yard dog and a pack of squirrels that someone was obviously spoiling. I've also watched the landscape change. Several construction projects were underway in Champaign this summer, so I've watched the slow build-up of a Starbucks, a football field, a bank, and some new school buildings.
By about August, I was walking most days and riding my bike a few others. As I've continued to build this habit, I've found myself noticeably happier and more engaged with life. It helps that I've been listening to podcasts, learning about finance, history, science, politics... That also motivates me to read more, because I get home with some interesting topic in my head instead of work. Sometimes I just sing as I walk, which both feels good and can be decent practice. I've even done a bit of writing while walking--there's plenty to inspire me.
Sure, my average daily commute time went from 20 minutes to about an hour and a half. A tiny part of me still sees it as a waste of time. But the physical and mental stimulation it affords (really, forces) have made me way more productive in spite of myself.
In the end, my car only needed a new battery. Looking back, not surprising at all. Yet if I'd replaced the battery (or the car itself) I likely would have continued to miss so much, and I certainly wouldn't be writing this right now.
Questioning assumptions can be life changing experience. I highly recommend it. And walking, of course.
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