Mark and I have made a decision to work towards selling our car. I’m tend towards the rash when it comes to lifestyle changes. Chuck it all and start over, I say! Mark’s a bit more pragmatic at times. He suggested we keep our car for now and live as though we have no car until winter is over. If we’re able to do it without losing all sanity, we sell the car in the spring and buy trikes!
We have a gorgeous car, paid off entirely. Why on earth would we sell it? Yeah, I know depreciation makes me rue this delay in forethought. The initial idea was entirely out of financial need. We simply cannot afford to own a car. Sure, I can put gas in it whenever needed. But if something were to happen — even the need for routine maintenance — we don’t have the necessary dough to correct the situation. Admitting this feels like failure to me. A car is one of those things that supposedly everyone has to have. I grew up in a city that has a laughable public transit system. I can’t imagine anyone getting along without a car there. And I had my own from the time I was a senior in high school. There was only a brief period of a year and a half during college that I was carless. Since then I’ve always boasted my own working wheels. There’s a freedom of spontaneity that’s entirely consumeristic. I can go where I want, when I want, to then buy and haul the things I want as my car eats up the miles. My body is barely involved. Occasionally, my brain has been barely involved too, as I drove well-traveled routes on autopilot. A car is pretty much the ultimate in ease.
Therefore, to give it up feels like a major exam in moving away from the consumer culture. I must think of it less as a failure and more of a proactive step away from being a part of the problem. It’s a great way to really protest the war in Iraq, for one thing. One less car means fewer emissions, less consumption of fossil fuels, greater consideration in where I want to go and what I want to do along the way, and certainly fewer things purchased as my body bears the weight. I don’t have to think about feeding any meters, finding any parking spaces, paying any tickets. And, yeah, there’s always the health benefits.
Chicago is a really well connected city when it comes to public transportation. And it’s currently trying to upgrade this system to be handicap-accessible (which, in turn means it’s stroller and heavy luggage and grocery cart accessible) so going carless isn’t impossible. We live about a block and a half away from a couple of great transit options, too. The only difficulty to surmount would be grocery shopping. We do live a few blocks from a Dominicks but are really more financially compatible with Aldi right now. So, we decided to get one of those tall grocery carts and start shopping at the Aldi off the Wilson stop.
First, I didn’t even know where to get one of those carts. Friends informed us that a good hardware store would carry a sturdier option than, say, Target. We got the top of the line model, with a weight capacity of 250 lbs, and figure it will pay for itself in all those saved gas and car maintenance costs down the line. Off we trucked to Aldi, I pushing Henry in the stroller and Mark towing the cart. We had a bit of a logistical challenge trying to arrange our cart and stroller to fit on the grocery trolley and ultimately Mark decided to just walk with Henry as he tooled around the store with our cart, alternately pushing and riding, while I selected groceries. Mark did the heavy hauling once our purchasing was finished. The Wilson stop has a lot of stairs involved but most are fortunately broken up with landings. It was the trip down stairs at our home L station that was the most difficult, I reckon. It’s possible this all may be easier to negotiate by bus — maybe. Those grocery carts can be mighty unweildy. We also may opt to occasionally Peapod it, especially during particularly rough winter days. Mark says hauling groceries on foot builds character, so he might venture out no matter the weather.
The other thing that’s going to take some getting used to is the amount of added time to consider in making any journey. Say I want to take Henry to the zoo. Instead of just arranging to zip out and return before evening rush hour, I have to plan for the approximately one hour trip there with a transfer to a bus (I’m still trying to decide which bus is the best to take to the zoo itself) and then the hour return. Do I want to deal with a packed train and bus coming home? Can Henry have an adequate nap slumped in his little umbrella stroller? Will I have enough snacks and meals with me to accomodate us both? There’s also the matter of getting things done when I don’t feel so well. Schlepping on public transit when you’re under the weather takes the exhaustion to a whole different level. But Henry won’t be in a stroller forever. And I’m sure my body will get used to things as I do more and more.