After a few months in Los Angeles, the freeway seemed terrifying rather than exhilarating.Photo: Dan MattesonOne Wednesday morning a couple of weeks back, I woke up, looked outside my kitchen window and noticed something weird. My car was missing from the spot in the driveway where it had been parked for two days.
I was sure it had been in its usual place before I went to bed. But there it was, or rather, there it wasn’t: an empty spot where my dark gray 1992 Honda Accord had sat night after night since I moved into this place. I thought I was hallucinating. I was distraught. I had just spent $600 updating some parts. And I loved my little car. It was a gift from my family, once owned by my uncle’s mother, who had died suddenly.
When I first got the car, I wanted nothing more than to drive it. After having lived carless for over 15 years in New York and Seattle, it was a odd and giddy feeling to have the freedom to be able to go anywhere I wanted, whenever I wanted, not having to rely on public transportation or my own two legs.
With car ownership, however, came a nagging suspicion that I was on the wrong side of a Big Issue. My purist environmen... Read more