Being Slow

Yesterday was World Carfree Day. I had no idea until late afternoon, but when I found out I felt pretty smug that I'd ridden my bike to work.

I’ve been doing that a couple of times a week for about a month now. I only learned to ride a bike about two months ago, so I feel a bit conceited about my dedication. I met a guy once who had been vegan and gave it up. He said he didn’t really feel bad about eating eggs and milk again, but he missed being able to feel morally superior to everyone else in any given room. That’s sort of how I feel about it.

My commute is eleven miles each way. It gives me plenty of time to think about the process and why I am putting myself through this grueling ordeal day after day. I’ve drawn several conclusions:

1. Tire inflation actually does make a difference. If my legs can tell, so can the engine of your car.
2. It takes a lot of energy and effort to move the weight of my body and bicycle eleven miles. Add half a ton of plastic and steel and you can start to appreciate the work that gasoline is doing for you.
3. Really, nobody should live more than five miles from where they work. More than that extends us beyond our means to travel without the assistance of fossil fuels. Sure it can be done; I’m happily doing it and so are many others. But the greater the distance, the greater the effort, the greater the time commitment, the less the average person is willing to make that commitment.

Making myself do this day after day has also made me think harder about other choices I make, and as I find the small joys in my commute that I wouldn’t have noticed in a car—watching the cranes in the hayfield, catching the fleeting scent of some unknown flowering thing, noticing the wind direction—I am more willing to change other things. As I make choices that are increasingly consistent with what I believe, I find that not only do I feel good about it, there are almost always unforeseen rewards.

None of this is easy. Despite the ubiquitous list that promises “small changes that make a big difference” or “ten surprisingly simple ways to green your lifestyle,” committing to a life that is less resource-intensive takes just that: commitment. It isn’t just buying products that are labeled “environmentally friendly,” it’s questioning whether you need to buy them at all; it’s not only owning a fuel-efficient car, it’s making decisions about how often and how far you really need to drive it.

The answers frequently require more of us: they take more time, forethought, and planning. They are complicated by a society that has built shopping centers away from residences and shunned public transportation. They risk being labeled a whack-job by neighbors Mr. Fastidiously Manicured Lawn and Mrs. Always Takes The Minivan.

We want everything to happen so fast. It’s the way our world is structured. We have no time for ourselves or each other (which begs the question: just what are we spending our time on?). But just the action of getting on that bike in the morning, planning my day to include that time, has forced me to slow down. Once I did, I found that there was a whole new opportunity: it’s not only about getting to your destination; everywhere you go has a journey that gets you there. It’s up to you to use or forsake the adventure of it. I like the slow way. I notice things. I have time to reflect, time for myself. I'm starting to think that the wasted time is the 20 minutes it takes in a car; the 50 minutes on the bike is an investment.