10 ways that being car free for one year has improved my life

As we celebrate Earth Day this year, I am moved to share a story that is more personal than the ones I generally do because this month I am also celebrating one year of being car free.

As you might expect, not driving a car has changed my life. I want to share my story with you because of what you might not expect: it has also made me a better person. Let me count the ways . . .

  1. I know I am positively impacting the Earth and all the creatures that call Her home. I feel wonderful about the fact that I am contributing MUCH less to the very real problem of climate change caused by the greenhouse gases that result from our nation's addiction to automobiles - but my journey did not begin from a place of self-righteousness, it began with deep humility. My car broke down and I could not afford to repair it. I told myself that I would in time but as more and more months passed, I began to realize that the idea that I needed to was a lie. Some days I pitied myself, truth be told, but most of the time I sought to foster an attitude of curiosity and to be open to the unfolding adventure of discovering what might be generated from my unexpected situation.
  2. I am healthier. All the time I used to spend in my car, I now spend walking, biking, and taking deep breaths at bus stops. It is no coincidence that I'm in the best shape I've ever been. When my doctor asked me "How often do you exercise?" I said without pause "Every day." Since sitting is the new smoking, the benefits of this cannot be overstated.
  3. I am less stressed. No more traffic delays, disrespectful drivers, parking nightmares, engine problems, unexpected tickets. I have built in "transition time" between scheduled events, time I can use to come back to my mind and body in the present. It took several months for the deeply ingrained habit of hurrying to be washed away and as a result my peace of mind has never been stronger. 
  4. I am more resourceful, resilient, and confident. I'm not going to lie, the first few months were difficult. Bikes getting flat tires and getting stolen. Buses missed and passes lost. Long walks in rain, snow, and the heat of midday. Every apparent setback was an opportunity to learn just how many possibilities there are and how capable I am of selecting one that will work. When things don't go as planned, I no longer feel anxiety, regret, or anger. I know that everything works out in its own time and way.
  5. I value my time more and have better experiences. I no longer overbook myself because I can no longer expect to move from one place to another so quickly. Conscious of the time and energy it takes to travel, I spend my time more consciously, choosing only those experiences that I most wish to have. For example, I can choose to have groceries delivered to me, to bike them to my home, or to dig deep in my cupboards and eat what I normally don't. 
  6. I am more active in my neighborhood. I support businesses that I can walk or bike to, and I know more of my neighbors (and their dogs). I no longer limit my sense of "home" to my house; it has widened to include the many buildings, yards, and people that are near me as they have become so familiar to me.
  7. I am learning to ask for and receive help more. When I can't do something on my own, or when someone simply wants to help, I am open to gifts of time, effort, and friendship. As an often fiercely independent person, it isn't always easy for me to ask for help, but I am getting better at it.
  8. I am more empathetic. I look into the eyes of strangers that pass by. I have conversations with people from all walks of life as we commute from one place to another on a train or bus. I regularly bear witness to those who are disabled and using public transportation. More than ever, I know how weary so many are - and how blessed I am. 
  9. I am a better parent. For a long time, I believed that because I am a parent (a single one, to boot), a car was non-negotiable. Thankfully, my son is older than he once was, much more capable of biking long distances and traveling by bus on his own, but he also more frequently challenges me. One the most difficult aspects of this transformation has been not meeting his expectations. Many times he has been stuck right there with me, at the wrong bus stop, with a busted bike, or carrying a heavy load on our shoulders - and, of course, being fourteen, every time he has reminded me of how much he wished it to be otherwise. As I let go of my guilt about this, I began to see how he was changing too, becoming more resilient, responsible, aware, and open minded himself. Naturally, this has far out weighed any self-judgement I may have had initially. 
  10. I am more grateful. When I finally let go of my car once and for all, I thanked it for all it had done for me and gave it to its next owner with the blessing that it provide what they need as well. When the busses run on time, when I pass by sweet smelling flowers, when a stranger says a kind word, I appreciate the beauty of this world. I no longer think I am "lacking" a car. Instead, I think I've been given these incredible gifts that I may be more joyful, more free. 

By sharing my experience, I do not wish to cast shame or judgement on anyone who is still regularly driving a car. I simply invite you to learn from my own experience that what we think about something - in this case, about the necessity of cars - may not be entirely true. Trust me, I had countless arguments for spending a large portion of my budget on the convenience of a car. Becoming car free was not unlike shaking an addiction, like when I gave up eating high-sugar foods and would have moments of inexplicable rage. And it's a cultural fixation (tellingly, some of my most supportive friends have been my European ones), which means that it's all the more difficult to break through.

I hope my story demonstrates that when we test our courage and make bold changes of any kind, when we sincerely strive to be healthier, humbler, more conscientious, and confident, we are supported more than we can imagine.