It’s been almost a year since I graduated college and moved back into my childhood home, and I can’t help but feel a dull emptiness inside.
In many ways, I should consider myself lucky to return to a place where everything is taken care of for me. I toss my dirty clothes into the hamper to be lost in the ether, only to find them neatly folded on my bed the next day. I saunter down the stairs after spending hours holed up in front of my computer to be greeted with a steaming bowl of rice, complete with my choice of veggies, protein, and soup on the side. I walk barefoot on the glossy wooden floors—something I wouldn’t dream of doing in my college apartment—with the reassurance that they’re mopped daily due to my dad’s obsession with living speck-free.
Simply put, I’m spoiled.
Even so, the shift from being an independent, do-it-myself college student to a work-from-home, early 20s home-dweller is so terribly drastic — abrupt, might I add — that it takes some adjusting to. In the last 4 years, I felt stuck in a sort of transitional limbo where I was responsible for mediating the infantile and adult parts of me.
So there I am, laying on my bed, shrinking back into my high school self again as I stare blankly at the familiar four walls I grew up in. Quite frequently, I’m inundated with waves of intense longing for the autonomy I once had.
Being at home has given me time to reflect and do some soul-searching—and I’ve come to a conclusion. It’s not that I miss the college experience itself, per se. Yes, there is something to be said about the unique adventure that is the American college system. From frantic midterm mornings spent cramming last-minute information into my head to hot, sticky nights pounding shots in a frat house littered with beer cans, it is safe to say that these episodes are unlikely to be recreated anywhere else. And while some of my favorite memories are the ones I’ve made in college, what I miss most of all can be boiled down into a single word: walkability.
Living on campus was my first real taste of what it was like to live in a walkable community, where proximity reigned supreme. My friends were just a 3 minute stroll up the block, campus a hilly 30 minute trek, and the local Trader Joe’s a brisk 15 minutes walk (if I managed an average speed of 3.5 mph). Here, I was perfectly content without a car; I would even go as far as to say that I was better off, as parking fees and gas prices reached astronomical highs.
But when you’re living in the suburbs, a car is a must—no discussion to be had. For me, that posed a bit of a problem. My inexperience with manning a 2-ton block of metal on wheels incited strong feelings of concern in my dad, prompting him to turn to Amazon in search of a way to quell his fears. Within 3 business days, a package containing a dashboard camera and a bright, yellow bumper sticker with the words “BEGINNER DRIVER” emblazoned on it appeared on our doorstep.
Truth be told, the line between “noooo, it’s okay that you don’t drive” and “kaylan, get your shit together and get in the driver’s seat” should have been drawn back in 2018 when I first got my license. Yet, like the nonconformist I think I am, I decided to push my limits, holding out for 4 years before I felt that it was no longer socially acceptable to be chauffeured by my parents.
Now, I’m forced into an increasingly dependent—albeit one-sided—relationship with my dad’s 2014 Nissan Sentra. The issue I have with driving is that it requires more effort and responsibility on my part. Whereas before I could have slipped on a pair of shoes and been out the door in less than a second, I now have the extra steps of:
Finding my keys
Turning the engine on
Checking and adjusting my mirrors
Choosing the right playlist to play
I’m constantly reminding myself to be cognizant of pedestrians and other drivers on the road, while also getting into the habit of locking the car once I’ve parked (parking is a whole other nuisance—one that I won’t get into now, but this article and this podcast do a great job of introducing the parking issue in our nation).
The paradox that I’ve been wrestling with is that being a good driver is not enough to guarantee your safety on the road; instead, it is more closely linked to the amount of blind faith you are able to put in other drivers. I am trusting that every other car on the road is abiding by the traffic lights and street signs, treating them as God’s will the way I so lawfully do; and still, I am riddled with anxiety whenever a car merges in front of me without turning on their blinker or as I approach an unprotected left turn. That being said, I’m not necessarily afraid of driving itself than I am of other people’s driving.
Placing my personal qualms against driving aside, the problem with modern-day suburbia further extends to city policies and urban planning. Even though the 5 minute drive to the gym is equivalent to a mere 20 minute walk, walking in my neighborhood is not a choice I would choose to make. The reason being: it’s dangerous and inconvenient. Cars traveling at minimum speeds of 40 mph, in tandem with long stretches of crosswalk, do not make for a safe environment for walking enthusiasts like me. Poor roadway design greatly contributes to both the challenge of walkability and the number of pedestrian fatalities.
Suburbs are highly auto-centric, favoring private cars over mass transit. With the majority of suburbanites owning a car, the demand for public transportation systems like buses and trains is insufficient and, in turn, ignored. Cars encourage sprawl, allowing people to travel larger distances and live outside workplace city boundaries. The consequences of suburban sprawl span a wide array of impacts; they have environmental (fossil fuel emissions), social (disconnected and isolated communities), economic (traffic congestion), and political (bipartisan divide) effects.
There is no clear answer to solving the car-dependency dilemma that exists in the nation. Redesigning the current transportation infrastructure to accommodate walkable cities is a complex project, requiring careful planning, resources, and coordination. Here’s city planner and urban designer Jeff Speck discussing ways to make cities more walkable.
As I fondly remember my days on foot in Westwood, the realist in me awakens to point out that it is still not truly a “walkable city”. To be fair, Westwood did alright in ensuring that everything was all a reasonable distance from each other for a college town; but I want to be able to comfortably trek more than a few miles outside of campus without worrying about crossing multilane roads or freeway entrances. Los Angelenos are still heavily reliant on the automobile as their main form of transportation, much to my disdain. Don’t get me wrong—LA is still the best city in the world, but perhaps it is time for me to try on a real walkable city for size… (Hello New York City?? 👋🏼)
Recommended Reads
Happy City by Charles Montgomery
Walkable City: How Downtown Can Save America, One Step at a Time by Jeff Speck
Why walkable cities are good for the economy, according to a city planner
Too many Americans live in places built for cars — not for human connection
you’re prob a better driver than me now 😃 AND YEAH NYC NYC