Why Would Anyone Give Up Their Car?

As the Kickstarter campaign wraps up today (success!), I thought I'd share my most "thoughtful" blog from the 80 Day experiment of going car-less (and with zero carbon emissions) in Los Angeles.  Enjoy, and thanks for the read.
An Essay on Our World -- Day 71

I have loved letting this movie evolve on its own. With very little pre-production, we kind of had to be at the mercy of That Something Way Bigger Than All of Us. Although the lack of planning has been a pain in our hinnies in a lot of ways, it has also given us a rare experience of just letting things happen...letting people, events, situations come to us. We've had the camera for most of it, and for that, I am grateful.

One of my favorite aspects of being a part of Carless in L.A. has been to observe certain themes as they surface in day-to-day life, in interviews, in the speeches that I've attended.

So, I'm going to take this time to comment on those themes, if y'all will bear with me.

****One of the reasons I embarked on this pilgrimage was as a result of my belief in the power of each of our individual choices. After all, it was someone's choice to take an idea and create it into a machine that would allow us to get from one place to another in a relatively short amount of time. And it was someone's choice to say, "Hey, that's a good idea!" and then buy it and drive it. And someone's choice to see it and say, "Damn, I want one too." And so on. And so on...

I interviewed a psychologist from UCLA the other day. Dr. Timothy Fong. He is an expert in addiction. He, in short, defines addiction as an action or behavior that one engages in successively that causes more havoc than pleasure, after it's all said and done. In other words, an addiction is not an addiction until the problems outweigh the good stuff. So a person can use cocaine, but if it's not wrecking his or her life, it technically isn't an addiction. 

Source

I, of course, was exploring the notion of "autoholics" with Dr. Fong. Are we, as Americans, addicted to our cars? I mean, can a whole society have an addiction? Perhaps we are modern-day Lotus-eaters, having mass-consciously indulged in the so-called conveniences of this machine called the car, and it has caused us to forget. And because we are ALL consuming this convenient little leaf, how would we be able to determine whether it was healthy for us or not?

No one can understand my gratitude for the automobile after this 71 days of zero carbon emissions. I glorify in every carpool ride that happens to being going my way. I adore all the things I somewhat took for granted: the private stereo system, the bucket seats, the intimacy of a private conversation, the ability to turn on whatever road calls the whim; I even adore the seatbelt and the cupholders, and the fact that there is room for my bike, my bag, and my backpack, and me.

Plus, there's the fact that certain cars, when you sit in them, give you a certain feeling... I'm talking about luxury here. I'm talking about feeling sexy. A new convertible Mini Cooper can do that. Much more than a bus can, believe me. Especially while driving down Pacific Coast Highway 1 on one of those L.A. blue sky, impossible-sun days...with India Arie playing loud and a good friend to share it all with.

Yet, I of course am even more keen on the problems that cars cause. I've been educated. In these 10-plus weeks, I have witnessed friends as they complain about traffic, parking tickets, parking meters, and other drivers on the road. People don't complain about gas as much...the cost is much less than it was in the spring, so I suppose it's all relative. I've seen friends' cars breakdown, have to go to the shop, and loose front bumpers. And then the complications of having to find a parking spot! Time-consuming. Gas-consuming. Oil-consuming. Good-mood-consuming.

One's luck these days is determined by one's abilities to find Doris Day parking, as a friend called it. Right there, right in front. That is a great feeling.

But on a bike, one's parking spot is always Doris Day's.

Here's the thing:

Can an individual think in terms of what is best for society? Enrique Penalosa determines that no, an individual does not have this ability. He was the mayor of Bogota, Columbia during a time when Bogota was crumbling under political, social, and environmental stress. He made laws that limited use of cars, and the city improved. He was a city official, and his job was to think in terms of what is best for the city as a whole.

Therefore, he believes that it is the duty of the government to think for the people...tell them what is best for all...because, left up the masses on an individual basis, they will fail.

He disclosed these philosophies in his lecture and in our interview. I was quick to challenge him on this.

To paraphrase: "But, Senor Penalosa, Americans love their freedom. If we start to limit their choices..."

My darlings. I am rebel at heart. I am. We all are. Our country, in a way, was founded on the rebellion of a few, particular individuals. We have built a rich and thriving democracy on the notion of freedom--liberty and justice for all! But has this freedom of choice gotten us in an less-than-free position, and we're not even aware?!

One car is not a problem. Ten cars are not a problem. We, as individuals, can no longer afford to look at ourselves this way though. When ice caps are melting, and poor animals are dying, and our beaches are covered in trash, and asthma is on the rise...

And children don't know what it is like to be in a grove of trees, because they have never seen a grove of trees, because parking lots have taken their place...

Source

And Alaskan wildernesses that our forefathers set up for generations beyond are now being drilled into because of a dependency on this stuff called oil...

Source

And people are afraid of each other because they don't have to be in the vicinity of others from different classes, races, socio-economic backgrounds...

Source

And all of our unique cities start looking eerily the same due to the cookie cutter strip malls that one can only get to in, you guessed it, a car...

Source

And people are depriving themselves of pecan pie at Christmas because of the fact that they are overweight (and don't know why!)...

Source

My question is this: Will our species evolve? Here's our big chance, people. We can actually start now. We can actually look at our consumer selves and say, "Okay, let's see? Are my individual actions for the greater good?"

Because you know what. Kids are smart. Do we really want the embarrassment of being the most selfish generation that ever was? Or perhaps, our selfishness is the result of the selfishness of many generations...including the generation that so violently killed or kicked the Native Americans off the land that they praised and respected and understood...

From the Gayaneshakgowa, the Great Law of Peace of the Hau de no sau nee, the Six Nations Iroquois Confederacy... "in our every deliberation we must consider the impact of our decisions on the next seven generations." 

Source

Seven generations.

I'm not sure we even think of the next one. Precious as they are. I'm not sure we even consider our own!

I hope we can prove Senor Penalosa wrong. That Americans don't have to rely on our politicians to make our choices for us... (Can someone say "scary," and I think y'all know what I'm talking about.)

This all being said, I need to impress upon you the following...

Extremes don't work. This experiment has been a complete extreme, moreso that I had foreseen. The result has been a strange sort of backlash, where I cannot wait until the 80th day at midnight where I will more than likely get in a vehicle, behind the wheel, and take to the highway and drive as far as that baby will go. Out to the desert maybe. Or down to Baja. Or maybe to the moon.

I will probably be criticized if I do that. Go guzzle lots of gas once I'm done. It's like a diet, where the person has deprived themselves of goodies for too long, so that they gobble up two tubs of Ben & Jerry's simply because they can.

When the pendulum swings one way, it goes back the other.

I will try not to drive to the moon, but I will drive when I want and need to. And I will not feel guilty...

Guilt serves nothing. Being hard on oneselves or others because they are harming the environment or whatever else serves nothing!

The other thing I have learned: I can't force anyone to do anything. It is exhausting to even think about trying to talk someone into taking public transportation with me. I mean, I'd be happy if they did, but again, if someone doesn't want to do something, if they didn't make the choice themselves, then the action is watered down and futile.

I had a goal at the beginning on the film on Day 1 when one of my good friends here in L.A. said, "Katie, you know I would not get on a bus. It's not my world."

Oh, how I wanted to prove her wrong! How I wanted to get her on the bus, just to say I had gotten her on a bus.

Would it have made her start taking public transportation all the time? Highly doubt it. Would she have realized it was not so bad? Probably.

The point is, it's not my place to be responsible for the actions of others, whether it be that friend., Paris Hilton, or my next-door neighbor.

It is my place to be responsible for myself...and speak up when I see a need.

I decided to drop the goal of getting that friend on the bus. Shifts in consciousness do not come in a day, or in a word, or by convincing someone to ride a damn bus. It is possible for it to happen that way, sure. But it is not my duty to TRY to shift consciousness. But I can allow consciousness to shift, beginning with my own.

I am lucky. I have had the amazing experience of undergoing a true shift in consciousness. I made a choice, and it yielded results. And as a response to my friend who says the bus isn't her world, I say this...

Put the Lotus down, now, sister. And start remembering...

Is "home" really behind your windshield or in your neat little apartment or at your cocktail parties? Because you're right. It's not your world.

It's all of ours.

We're in this together, dear hearts. Let's rejoice in that! It's all of ours, and what a rich and lovely species we are...

I'm so happy we're waking up.

Source

Birmingham Bike Treasures & Ava's First Ride

So I bought a bike!  If you are looking for a used in Birmingham, call me, because I have got your hook-up!  This guy's basement is a treasure chest of bicycles -- road bikes, mountain bikes, cruisers, and some antiques that had me drooling -- which is why he prefers to remain anonymous.  Some of these babies are worth money!  I went over there, in the rain, last week, thinking (grumbling), "This guy better have something."  Boy, was I surprised, if not shocked, and pleasantly so.

look at this beauty - in the works

just a few in one tiny section of the basement

this bike comes up to my thighs -- built for a four-year-old -- in my guy's words: "The French start them early"

"These should be in a museum!" I said, turning around once again to see another twenty or so bikes in yet another corner of the basement, and amazed by all of them.

I asked him if he wanted to have a show.  He said, yes, he wants to have a show.  (...to be continued?...)

I really wanted the baby blue vintage Schwinn, but I went for the Specialized mountain bike in a fit of practicality over style.  If I still lived in Venice Beach, the Schwinn would be mine!

Anyway, what I set off to write about was the Ride of Silence that I attended Wednesday night.

What a lovely idea.  All over the country, groups of cyclists rode in unison, taking over the streets of their towns and cities, to honor the people who have been killed while riding a bike on the road.  It's a demonstration that whispers, "Share the road, please."  No one speaks, and the ride is supposed to be slow.

Not slow enough for me!

Here's what happened:

So I got my bike, right?  And I have a two-year-old little girl, Ava.  And I've always thought how fun it will be to ride her around on the bike.  After minimal research, I decided to go with the old seat-attached-to-back-of-bike, like my parents used back in the 70s.

I've been very disorganized this week -- things have been happily out of control since the Kickstarter campaign met its goal (Thank You!), so of course, at 4 PM, I'm still without a seat for the bike, and I had really been looking forward to this group ride.  The group was meeting at 6:30 in Homewood.  (Oh, did I tell you that there was to be a police escort and everything?  Love!  We get to take over the streets legally this way!)

Just as I was about to give up, I called my new friend, Stan, who is a cyclist (and arborist) in town.  As I knew he would, he came up with a plan, "Get in the car with the baby, go buy the seat, bring it back to your house, I'll help you put it on, then I'm going to my 5:30 ride that I have scheduled, then I'll see you at the Ride of Silence."

Without hesitation, Ava and I sped off to the Bob's Bikes, where I knew they had a seat.

I drove up to see Stan pulling up to my place, on his bike no less.  He was out of breath.  He must have pedaled hard.  He was meeting a group to cycle before the Ride of Silence so he had about twenty minutes to help me.

So he is putting the seat on (after a slight hiccup because he discovered that I own very few tools -- good thing my neighbor walked up at the right time!), when I realized that I have a helmet for myself, but not for Ava.

Granted, this is our first ride on my new bike, with Ava on the back.  25 lbs extra.  No big deal, right?

Yeah.  Not stable.  And I was about to ride on roads with no bike lanes.  It was a relatively short ride to my destination, but...

I went on anyway.  After all, after LA, I can handle Birmingham, right?

I lasted five minutes.  I just hated that my child did not have a helmet on!  I called the bike shop, Cahaba Cycles, where the group was meeting.  "Do y'all have toddler helmets and will you be open in ten minutes?"

The answer was yes.  So carefully, very carefully, I meandered over a busier street then through a sleepy neighborhood route.  A car whizzed by me, just as another cyclist was passing me as well.  He, in a very protective manner (gotta love the South) yelled at the driver, "SLOW DOWN!"

I had a few other "protective" moments.  At the major light, a young man in a huge truck, who was also waiting on the light, motioned to me to go ahead when it turned green.  Then, he sort of escorted me across Highway 31.  So cute!

A couple of minutes later, in Homewood, the car behind me basically stopped mid-street to simply let me go where I needed to go, which was the left-hand turn lane.  Yay!

Southern gentlemen, thank you for the courtesy.  You have no idea what it means to a lady sometimes.

(Of course, these men could've just thought I was completely nuts to be on my bike with a child on the back in a town with few bike lanes, but hey, I thought I'd give credit where credit is due.)

Got to the store, bought the helmet, and dozens upon dozens of folks had shown up (in full gear and mostly on road bikes I might add) for the Ride of Silence.  It was a lovely sight.

Of course, Ava was the only two-year-old.  In fact, I think I spotted about two children total, including mine.

But I prevailed.  We set out towards the back of the group, the blue police lights leading the way.  Silence.  Except for Ava going, "Weeeeee!  Weeeee!" (Yes, just like that pig in the commercial.)  So much for silence when we're around.

Sure enough, about ten minutes into the ride, we fell way behind on a big hill.  Too far behind.  A behind that even the cops weren't comfortable with, because they told me I needed to catch up, which, considering my circumstances, was not going to happen.

I merrily stopped, turned around, and rode home, this time more confident, and glad I made the right decision not to push it, with a baby on the back.

We stopped at the park, because Ava asked me too, and I tell you what, riding through the slow-paced neighborhoods of Homewood and Mountain Brook, the cool air on the my skin, the day calmly slipping away as I pedaled on --- yes, this is what I have been missing.  Just being outside, and breathing.  

"Cat, Mommy, meow."  Ava said.   And then, "I love bikes."  And then she went into a chorus of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.

"I do too, sweetie.  I do, too."

Pride, Prejudice, & the Bus Ride in the Bad Part of Los Angeles

This blog was written when I was about 60 days into the 80-day attempt to emit zero carbons into the atmosphere for the documentary I'm making called CarLess in L.A.  Contribute to the movie at Kickstarter before May 22!  

A familiar ride {source-LA Times Blog}

Happiness Is

Today, I went to a birthday party lunch for my friend, J.  It was a delightfully charming party in an exquisitely charming house in a horrendously not-so-charming part of town.

And I got there by bus.

I was so proud of myself. Woke up, did some yoga (saves me every time: my caffeine, my workout, my therapy, my church), and walked to my darling little neighborhood farmer's market for groceries. I had it all timed out perfectly. I logged into mta.net (mapquest for bus riders), and found a nifty little route that would take me an hour, but so what? I had the classic Pride and Prejudice to accompany me while commuting.

I showered, dressed, walked to the bus stop. A car pulled up with two young men in it. They asked me if I wanted to "puff" with them. I politely declined and took my seat at the bus stop. They offered me a ride. I declined again. They went away.

The bus came just on time. I sat towards the middle of the bus and was intent on my book (Elizabeth ran into Mr. Darcy and how his character had changed since their last meeting!) when I noticed the bus had stopped at a stop. And wasn't cranking up again. All the riders just sat there. There was no explanation by the driver. We were simply not going.

Now, time was ticking. I was to attend my lunch at 1. And I had timed it just so. Why weren't we going? I had another bus to catch, a transfer to make!

Finally, I asked a gentlemen in the row next to mine. He told me that the bus had hit a pole and the mirror had smashed and that it was illegal for the driver to drive without a mirror and that another bus was coming.

How I missed this I have no idea. All I can say is that I really like Jane Austen's story.

Sure enough, another bus came up from behind. We all deboarded, and as we walked to the bus behind us, I witnessed the broken mirror, shattered into pieces on the sidewalk and in the road. Interesting. I thought. Broken mirrors have always brought out my superstitious side. I was glad I wasn't the one who had broken it. Seven years is a long time.

I made it to my next stop but had missed my transfer. By a lot. I don't know how long I waited. Thank God I was smart enough to remember my book.

Finally the Metro 150 rolled up, and boy, was this bus a winner. Yuck. I sat quickly, quietly, my nose still in the book. I looked up occasionally to notice that I was not in a part of town I had ever seen. Nor had I ever wanted to see it. Nor will I want to see it again.

Pardon my discourtesy, but I was in a downright BAD part of town, which means interesting characters on the bus.

Alas, the woman next to me was wearing light pink with a red scarf, which is a great color combination according to me. I glanced over and saw that she too had a book.
The chapter title: What Is Happiness?
The name of the book: A Piece of the Mirror

Now, what was I supposed to make of this, Universe? I was just on a bus that made pieces of a mirror. And here was a woman with a book of that title with the words "What Is Happiness?" glaring at me.

Signs, signs, signs. Some of them are more clear than others. Some of them are too clear to be ignored. This one was really just a little Godwink, as a friend of mine likes to call them. A reminder that there is something bigger out there. Perhaps a chance for a little spark to happen in what may be just an ordinary day?

I did not take this as an occasion to stand up and preach about Happiness on a bus. I did not rack my brain with the wonders of why o why I was late to my party when I had been so dutiful about time. I did not take this little coincidence or synchronicity as anything but a curiosity. I didn't even think it was perhaps a Godwink until now, as I write.

There are signs. And then there are SIGNS.

What we do with them is up to us, I believe. I surely had SIGNS when considering the making of this film. I followed them, and I trusted, and although, I was, in all honesty, freaking out about giving up my car for 80 days and attempting this crazy experiment, I am doing it. I did it. I didn't have to. Of course not. But the bigger part of me, the soul part of me, whispered, then whispered louder, "Do it."

So, I'm doing it.

A piece of the mirror. I can reflect on it now (pun intended). A lot of these spiritual texts and guru people say that we are all mirrors of each other.

Here I was the only white girl on a bus in a seedy part of town, dressed up, reading a very white book, and going to a very white party, frankly. ..

When a man boards the bus, falling over himself, drunk or deaf or just sad or something, and he slightly bumps the man next to me.

He says as he stumbles his way to the very back of the bus, "Excuse me."

The man next to me says, "It's okay."

And we're all human. Once again, we're all human. I love it. Not all the time. But when I do love it, it's the purest feeling out there.

{source}

Blog from the CarLess Days

Here is one of the many blog posts from the 80 days without a car in Los Angeles....    You can substitute just about any city for "Los Angeles" as you read.  Also, know that I worked at TreePeople where bus loads of children came every day to learn about the "city forest" and the environment.  


***********
So. It looks like I got what I wanted. I got to see what it felt like to go with zero carbon emissions. I got to tackle the Los Angeles bus system. I got to build muscles in my calves and thighs as I biked up and down, to and fro. I got to see what life would be like in Los Angeles...without a car.

I got to make new friends.

I got to almost pull my hair out waiting at bus stops.

I got to scream at nothing when going up a killer hill via bike.

I got to blog.

I got to learn patience in the utmost.

I got to be a traveller in my own town.

I discovered the secrets of a city. I have become part of the city in ways that not many people here can claim.

I shed tears.

I shed fears.

I laughed, hated, and loved.

And I am a new person because of it.

LA can be done car-free. I met many upon many who are car-free and are just fine.

What if we could shift it? What if we could all get out of our cars more? Experience each other more? Experience the air and sunshine more? Go like children on bikes powered by nothing but our own awesome energy?

What would Los Angeles look like with more bike paths, some swanky monorail systems, more parks, and less parking lots?

Many people say that this is too grand of a task. I laugh at that. They've forgotten.

I wish y'all could see the faces of the children when I tell them that once upon a time in a land called Los Angeles, there were no cars. That there was a time of no roads. A time with no sidewalks, X-boxes, schools, nor houses.

I get gasps. I get eyes widening big. I get tongues hanging from the sides of mouths. I get uneasy chuckles, as if I were telling a fib. I then ask them to imagine what it would look like...

They pause. Grasping this.

Some say: Like a forest.... Many say: Beautiful.

What if we brought beauty back? After all, we made this city, this world what it is. Take time to Look Around to see all we've created! It's amazing! This computer. This chair. This floor. This music. This everything.If we can do all this without thinking of the effects, consider what we can do...considering the effects. With consciousness. With beauty and consideration in mind.

It's an amazing time to be alive, my dears. Let's make use of it.

I love y'all. See you in the streets...

Tree-lined city street in St. Louis.  Photo Courtesy of the City of St. Louis 

Bike lane in China

The Poem that Foreshadowed CarLess in LA

While I was shooting CarLess in L.A., I had a blog going -- here is a portion of it, re-published.  For more blogging during the 80 days, go Here.   


Flashback:
I grew up in Mobile, Alabama (yes -- Mobile as in "movement"-- I'm not kidding) and attended all-girls school until ninth grade. It was while in Ms. Bosler's seventh grade English class, with her poster of Tom Selleck and her bright orange and yellow canvases that were supposed to "encourage thinking," that I discovered what poetry was. It was a specific poem that led to this revelation. I think she had us read it out loud. I remember just following along robotically to what the words fed us. And then Ms. Bosler asked some very smart questions when the lightbulb in my whole being went off. I later learned that what I had stumbled upon in that poem was what high school students call "figurative language" and "imagery." In that one poem, a whole world opened up.

I recently tracked down Ms. Bosler to find the name and author of this poem. May Swenson called it "Southbound on the Freeway." I call it: beautiful and strange foreshadowing.

Here it is:

by cocoi-M on Flickr

"Southbound on the Freeway" by May Swenson

A tourist came in from Orbitville,
parked in the air, and said:

The creatures of this star
are made of metal and glass.

Through the transparent parts
you can see their guts.

Their feet are round and roll
on diagrams or long

measuring tapes, dark
with white lines.

They have four eyes.
The two in the back are red.

Sometimes you can see a five-eyed
one, with a red eye turning

on the top of his head.
He must be special -

the others respect him
and go slow

when he passes, winding
among them from behind.

They all hiss as they glide,
like inches, down the marked

tapes. Those soft shapes
shadowy inside

the hard bodies - are they
their guts or their brains?

Musings of a Life/Time -- (quick read)

This past weekend, I was chatting with a friend, listening to music. The topic of the state of the world came up.  He told me that he had asked a very old man recently, "What is the main thing that has changed in your lifetime?"

The very old man responded, "People don't have time for each other any more."

Sad, right?

Sad... and true.

The Persistence of Time by Salvador Dali

Get this irony -- did you know that when email came out, "they" predicted that it would cut the workday down by like half?  "They" imagined all these people getting their work done quickly and easily, so that they could get out and enjoy the day more.

Yeah.  That didn't happen.

And cars?  Aren't they so great because we get to places faster?  So that we can have more time to do what we enjoy....?

...like hanging out with people?  Making time for them, if you will.

But instead, we faulty humans have tried to keep up with cyberspace and the speed of transportation -- we have sped ourselves up so much (read: Starbucks on every corner) that maybe we are missing the point.

After all, Life and Time are not mutually exclusive.  If there is one thing we have in Life, it's time.  Really, it's the only thing we have.  Until we die.  So when we exclaim, "I don't have time!" we're really kind of lying.  It's just that we have chosen something else to do with our time/life at that moment.

I'm as guilty of it as the next person.  It's almost as if we treat Time as a competitor of sorts -- who's going to win out today?  Time?  Or me?

Again -- Guilty!

All of these musings are just another reason why I think it's a good idea if we all got out of our cars every once a while.  You know, took our time getting somewhere occasionally.  Walked.  Biked.  Took a bus, and just sat down with someone, anyone, and asked them, "What's the main thing that has changed for you in your lifetime?"