Going from Green to Gas-Guzzling and Trying to Stay Sane...

It's a very strange thing, owning a car. At 29 years old, I have finally conquered my phobia of driving and got my drivers license and my first car. While I certainly feel that I have acquired a newfound sense of freedom, I also feel an unwelcome sense of obligation, a burden of sorts.

I can't deny that it's very nice to have the ease of quick transport, not having to stand at the bus stop or train station stamping my feet impatiently as I wait for my journey to get underway. Now, I can leave whenever I want and go pretty much wherever I want (although I haven't explored all the freeways enough yet to be completely comfortable venturing into unknown territory). At a moment's notice I can hop in the car and be on my way in my own space, not having to share a seat and conversation with other passengers or put up with their body odor. In some ways, it's a great relief.

And in some ways, owning a car makes my heart ache. I have this terrible feeling that I've "sold out" somehow, that I've joined the mainstream and done exactly what everyone expected of me: I've joined the fuel-guzzling throng just like everyone else. It's ironic to me. Now that everyone's talking about hybrid cars and gas prices are becoming unwieldy, I've finally gone and bought a big old boat of a sedan. It cost me over $50 to fill it up. Ouch.

Don't get me wrong; I like my big old sedan. It's in good shape and gets me where I need to go. But with the acquiescence of this car and the freedom it brings, I feel like I've lost another kind of freedom. I've lost the freedom of not having to worry about things like gas prices and car insurance and oil changes. And I took a certain amount of pride in not owning a car, even though most people I know thought it was odd. I was proud of myself for making this sacrifice to contribute to the well-being of our planet. Now every time I start my engine, I'm riding a wave of guilt.

In the last week since I've forfeited my morning walk to work for a ridiculously short drive, I've also forfeited a certain connection I felt with my neighborhood. Walking to work grounded me in a way that driving can't. There's something to be said for stepping out your front door in the morning and walking down your street, getting a visceral feel for the day's weather and stopping to watch and hear birds and squirrels in the trees above you or to pause for a moment to gaze upon your neighbor's flowers. There simply isn't time to do this while driving. It all speeds by in a blur.

They say that "less is more." It's true. Whenever we acquire something, be it a car, a home, or even a relationship, there is a sense of loss. Taking on these responsibilities steals from us a certain freedom and innocence. I find myself looking back now to the time before I owned a car, when I spent less money and had fewer worries. But I wouldn't go back. Having a car makes life much easier in many ways; harder, too, but overall I feel the convenience of driving makes it worth it.

Now I need to find a way to make sure I'm responsible about driving. I don't want to drive everywhere just because I can. If a place is close enough to walk to, I want to remember to walk. I don't want to become just another gas-guzzling American. I am still searching for a way to temper convenience with responsibility.