The Simplicity Paradox

So I just got a car. It was a decision I didn't make lightly, and over which I'm still feeling extremely conflicted (so don't give me any grief, because I'm kinda touchy about it right now). My mom recently got a new car and offered me her old one, which was in good condition and, better yet, free. I've been carless for over four years, which has worked out fine, more or less, since I live in the urban core of Minneapolis where public transportation is actually pretty okay. But I would like to move to someplace rural at some unspecified time in the future, and if I do that, I'd really need a car. Even if I only drive it once a week to go into town. Even if gas is $15 a gallon at that point. Not to mention that it's hard to even start looking for such a place to live without a car. So I took this one.

But...okay, in the interest of full disclosure (and what are blogs for, if not full disclosure?), that was actually only half the reason I took the car. It was also, in part, because I am somewhat fed up with the hassle of not having access to a car, which is to say that I have grown lazy. It's not hassle enough that I'd actually spend money to purchase a car, but when a free car in good condition was dangled in front of my face, it was too enticing to pass up.  So I took it, and was thus inducted into an elite secret club of folks who never, ever have to wait for the bus when it's below zero out or beg for a ride to some transit-inaccessible place. And—I won't lie—it's been a kind of amazing experience, to suddenly have that freedom after not having had it for four years.

I recently found something I wrote a couple years ago, musing over my non-car-ownership:

"I think a lot about cars. How I don't have one. How I'm not sure if I want one. How sometimes I feel like I was a different person when I had one. The degree of freedom and independence a car gives you is identity-altering, I have learned. I think about back when I had a car and a corporate job and lived in the suburbs, and could go anywhere I wanted, anytime I wanted to—to see friends in other suburbs, or to visit my college town. It blows my mind today, to contemplate that level of freedom, and the fact that I once had it. Who was I then?"

And I can only describe the personal renaissance I am now experiencing in light of having a car as kind of the reverse of this—a sudden blossoming of opportunity where before there were only limits. It's incredibly discouraging, actually, and more than a little scary—if I, an inner-city dweller on a budget with a penchant for doing things the hard way and a $97-a-semester-unlimited-student-bus-pass,-for-crying-out-loud, can't even be enticed into non-car-ownership, then what hope is there?

To be fair, I feel like the recent non-car-ownership fad, in which folks who can easily afford a personal vehicle are increasingly choosing not to have one, has glossed over some of the more inconvenient aspects of being carless. Take buying kitty litter, for example. No one wants to drag that home on the bus. I've generally managed to pick up that kind of stuff when I already happen to be out with someone who has a car. But then you always have to be thinking about it in the back of your mind. You've got to keep this mental list of the things you consume that are heavy/otherwise awkward to transport, and how much of each of them you have, whether you need more, and where to get them, and then randomly badger your car-owning friends into swinging you by the store that sells them while you're in the neighborhood, all the while worrying that they're rolling their eyes inwardly and wondering why you don't just get a car already, if you need kitty litter that badly. About a month ago, I found myself seriously contemplating skipping out on a friend's wedding reception because it happened to be held near IKEA, where there was something I'd been meaning to buy, and I didn't know when I might next be in the neighborhood. That kind of mentality can get exhausting.

And then there was my social life. I just moved out of a neighborhood populated mostly by (ragingly incompetent, naive, and perpetually drunk) undergrads, where a spate of violent crime incidents (shootings, stabbings, and gang rapes, wheee!), likely perpetrated by those attracted to the idea of a bunch of intoxicated easy targets wandering around with their parents' credit cards, were making me nervous to be walking to/from the bus stop late at night. I'd pretty much stopped going anywhere in the evenings unless it was with someone else who had a car, which made me feel like I was about twelve years old. And then there was all the stuff that I wanted to do outside of the city—camp, visit relatives, volunteer on farms, see green things in patches larger than one square block—that I couldn't do unless I conned someone else into taking me/lending me their car. It's one thing to satisfy most of your transportation needs via train/bus/bike, but another thing entirely not to even have the option to drive. I coped with these things for a while, but over time they got to be really, really old.

The problem is that I'm now spending I-don't-even-know-how-much per month for something I don't actually need. Insurance is setting me back $65 a month. I could go for the cheapo liability only insurance, but I was been burned by that one before, badly, when somebody hit my (tragically departed, may it rest in peace) old car when it was parked on the street in the middle of the night and left it for dead. $4000 asset, gone. So I'm wary of that route. (Because then how would I shop for a farm???) Then there's gas, which depends on how much I drive it, of course. If I don't drive it much, I'll basically be paying $65 a month for the privilege of knowing it's there to be driven...but if I drive it a lot, then I'm paying even more for something I don't even really need. And then there are repairs and such, which I don't even want to think about right now. If it needs some really expensive part, will I actually cough up the dough to fix it? If I truly relied on it, yes, but right now I'm thinking no...

The first day I had the thing, I ran some errands in two different parts of the city. This would have been a complex enough venture on public transit that I'd have probably split it up into two different trips on two different days, or else spend the better chunk of the day on the bus. But I was done in a slick two-and-a-half hours. I was like, "Holy sh*t, this is better than chocolate!!" But on the other hand...a whole city of previously inaccessible stores is now open to me, and my buying isn't restricted by what I can carry home on the bus. This was one of the things I really liked about not having a car—around here you can get to most things on the bus, but generally not without a transfer or two, and if it takes you five hours and four transfers round trip to get to the store that sells the thing you think you need, chances are you'll find a way to do without it. I'm pretty sure that this has saved me a lot of money over the years. But no more. Now I'm shelling out big bucks for the privilege of being able to get to stores more quickly and easily, where I can then shell out more big bucks for things I don't need, and all without worry about how I'm going to get everything home. It's great for the economy, maybe, but potentially not so great for my own personal economy. Or the environment. Sigh.

And then there are all the really nice things about taking the bus, which you (or at least I) will inevitably miss out on somewhat because driving is just so much easier. The first couple years I was carless, I was thrilled about it because, freedom notwithstanding, I really detest driving. And busing eliminates so many of the really loathsome things about getting from point A to point B. Traffic jams, for example, are no longer your problem. If you're stuck in traffic, you can kick back and read a book, or kick back and watch all the drivers of the cars around you grow increasingly frustrated while you put on your smug face because you're on a bus kicking back. Winter driving is a no-brainer—you don't even have to know how. You don't have to scrape ice off your windshield. You don't have to dig around in the backseat for the ice scraper and curse because your fingers are going numb. You don't have to freeze your ass off waiting for your car to warm up because the bus driver did that for you back at the station. And you're NEVER the designated driver. You NEVER have to pay for parking. In contrast, I've spent two afternoons in the past week stuck in absolute clusterfuck rush hour traffic after I decided to go places just because I could, and as it so happened about fifty thousand other people were trying to go to approximately the same place at the same time I was. (Hence the term "rush hour"; note to self—there's this thing called "rush hour".) AND THERE WAS NOTHING GOOD ON THE RADIO. Not cool. My non-car-owning self would have probably spent those tragically wasted hours kicking back on the porch with a beer and a book. So really, has my life just gotten better? Easier? More satisfying?

Not to mention all the negative environmental and economic impacts of having a car. Carbon dioxide emissions. Fossil fuel dependence. The implicit reinforcement of the idea that car ownership is superior to non-car-ownership, and that busing/biking just isn't a viable option. The fact that the majority of the money you spend on car-related expenses leaves your local economy.Wow, I'm starting to feel really bad about this decision. Thanks, blog.

It comes down to an issue that I've encountered often in other circumstances as well, which is that in the process of trying to "simplify" my life, I often make my life harder. And by "simplify" I mean get rid of stuff, clutter, gadgets, monthly expenses; in other words, make smart time/money tradeoffs by swapping the ability to buy or have lots of stuff (i.e. more income) for more time (which I gain by not having to work as much). (Source of above link: Dave Pollard's excellent blog.) Of course, this is somewhat moot at the moment since I'm a grad student and basically work ALL the time for very little money, but in general, this describes my values regarding time and money. The problem, however, is that in many cases, stuff does actually save you time—and on the flip side of that, getting rid of stuff often means that the time you gain by not having to work for that income is easily eaten up by having to do things in a different and often more time-consuming way. I call this the "simplicity paradox".

Cars are a good example of this. In the United States (and also Canada), the majority of cities are pretty dang difficult to navigate via public transportation. Oh, it can be done, but it isn't quick. When I stopped having a car back in 2006, I was incredibly pleased to be able to shed that monthly expense, not to mention the hassle of all the things that go along with car ownership—maintenance, finding parking, that constant fear in the back of your mind that your car is going to go kaput any day now and will need $3000 in repairs. But over time I realized that I'd just traded those hassles for a new set of hassles—buses that only run every 30 minutes on weekends, buses that are chronically late (or worse, buses that are chronically early and zoom by as you're rounding the corner to the bus stop, those jerks), transfers in dodgy neighborhoods, your suburban-dwelling friends always having to come visit you, and the fact that it consistently takes about three times as long to get pretty much anywhere. It's hard to say which set of hassles is preferable, because they're apples and oranges, and it totally depends on your situation, your priorities, and your income. For a while, I really liked non-car-ownership. Lately it's started to grate on me. But maybe once I've had this car for six months and seen it through oil changes, winter driving, insurance payments, and many, many tank refills, I'll be super keen on taking the bus again. And sometimes it is worthwhile to do things the hard way if your values so dictate, or you get pleasure from the mindfulness of it. (I feel this way about cooking and making things—nearly everything I eat—from scratch.) There isn't a definitive answer.

I'm definitely not trying to imply that more stuff is actually better than less stuff, or that stuff never complicates your life more than it simplifies it. I can think of plenty of things I've intentionally never had or ditched along the way that have truly simplified and improved my life immensely in their absence. A television, for example. And cable, for that matter. Nice clothes that require dry-cleaning. A nice haircut that requires styling. Zillions of knick-knacks and heirlooms that require storing (and moving, if you move). Etc. The epitome of this, in my mind, is the simple house (or maybe yurt) that I intend to build for myself someday, so that I can avoid a mortgage and the host of complicated issues and obligations that go along with that. Building a house is hardly a simple matter (building a yurt is somewhat more so, which is why it's on the table), but I suspect that in the long run, it will be far simpler than 30 years of indebtedness to some douchey bank, especially given recent (and current) trends in the housing market. Cutting down on your stuff, and your expenses, can and does simplify your life in meaningful ways. But not in every case.

I guess the point is that one has to go about it mindfully and consider the trade-offs carefully—and accept that in practice, it's probably unrealistic to cut out as many items and expenses as you know you could.  I once met this retired man who'd become extremely environmentally conscious in his old age; not only did he ditch his car and keep his thermostat at about 50, but he refused to buy anything new, including socks and underwear. I'm sure most of America would consider this guy a nutter, but I found his stance, and his dedication to it, incredibly admirable...but I couldn't do that myself, if only because I don't have the time in my life to scour thrift stores for used socks and underwear in acceptable condition... As someone who does a lot of things the hard way in the name of simplicity, and recently caved and got a car because of it, I can confirm: there's a lot to be said for not burning yourself out on simplicity.