Here are the facts: Humans, and all other living creatures, have a limited lifespan. Trees can live for thousands of years, growing and maturing and bringing life to the space they inhabit. Some species of tortoise survive for hundreds of years. Dogs grow up with us as children and usually leave us before adulthood. Gerbils have fewer years, and insects even less. We happen to exist somewhere in the middle of it all, at about 110 years maximum, depending on where on earth we live.

The short of it is this: We all die in the end. It might come sooner, or at the very latest possible. It could be natural or unnatural. It could be at the hand of another human being, or our own. So why are we so afraid of it?

Because it’s the end of our lives as we know them? Because we don’t have proof of anything afterwards? Worst case scenario, there’s nothing, and our conscience is snuffed out forever. Depending on your belief, there is promise of an afterlife, a heaven or hell, a rebirth as another being, a chance to try again, reward and punishment. But this doesn’t matter in this life.

We spend too much time fretting over life after death, and too little time living this one. We are afraid to do something dangerous, afraid to try something new, afraid to take chances on people or beliefs or dreams. We blame people for accidents, make them out to be preventable, and try to take money from them. We expect safety at all times, and are willing to give up important human rights to guarantee it.

Please

Let me tell you what life is: Yesterday, a man was killed as he went to work. He was an important man, and left behind many grieving friends and family. When everyone was gathered together to remember him and pray over him, a suicide bomber killed them. Over 70 human beings died, and a hundred more injured. This was done in the name of meaningless, faceless, religious terror, to people who try to make their lives and their world a better place. And do you know what happened after? More people came to the same place and picked up the bodies and treated the wounded. They gathered AGAIN, risking more life, to save life.

In America, a man died when his self-driving car had an accident. So to prevent this from happening again, there are people calling for bans on self-driving vehicles. This is our idea of safety. This is our activism. We stand and block the future for our mindless fear of death.

Should I ever pass away trying something new, do not rally against that thing. If others leave this life early, do not let grief cloud your judgement of humanity. The good of the many outweigh the needs of the few. My life must show this at all times. I hope yours does as well.

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Empty parking spots are rare in my neighborhood, so when I arrive home, I brave crowded streets and back alleys hunting for available space that won’t get me a ticket. It could take 30 minutes of driving around the blocks multiple times before I find a spot and shuffle home over half a mile.

So then heading back out to go shopping or pick up furniture is not something I look forward to. Arrive home after 7PM guarantees I will not be able to park unless someone else leaves and no one is in front of me. It’s an extremely frustrating experience for someone who lives here and needs a place to park.

So we’ve begun relying heavily on
Uber. The ease of summoning a car in Los Angeles and friendly driver has effectively negated the need for a second vehicle and allowed us to save money and time.

Live in a city that encourages public transportation? I recommend using Uber as well. It works.

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We moved to LA, realized that keeping two cars is not only unnecessary, but wasteful and a pain in the butt, and then chose which vehicle we wanted most. Hannah’s Santa Fe won by a landslide, because it’s bigger and capable of hauling a couch, because it’s old and ready to die any day, and we want to get a new one.

I’m a little sad. Bertha was a good friend. I drove her over 80,000 miles in three years, up and down the East Coast multiple times, back and forth from Pennsylvania to North Carolina for a year and again from Maryland to North Carolina for 9 months. I’ve lived in 10 different homes across 6 different states with her, and once I lived in her for a week. She’s had three sets of tires and three windshields. She had a brick thrown through her rear window and a trunk full of ants. I met a girl with this car, drove her on dates with this car, took her to Maryland with this car, and married her with this car. She’s the first car I ever bought, and the first I’ll ever sell.

I’m sad to see her go. But not really, because now I can get a better one. See ya, Bertha!

The post I’m Selling My Car appeared first on Of Psychology and Psychosomatics.

It’s true. Often I argue with myself on how I want to settle, work, begin a family, raise a brood, purchase an aquatic vehicle, and tuck my striped polo shirt into my khaki shorts until I have a heart attack in my sleep, like any normal American. But the louder, more convincing side says it’d rather move around a bunch more, find someone who isn’t afraid to buy a camper and live on the side of the road for the next fifteen years, and have fun doing things most people skip or miss out on entirely. Where’s the rule that says I need to be boring as soon as possible?

So yeah. That’s my “In a strange parking lot in another state with all my belongings currently in my car” rant. I’m ready to have fun and do things I can’t do when I have a regular job, but I need one soon if I wish to stay un-homeless.

Those guys do make a ton of money, though…

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