I am a driver. I turned sixteen on a Sunday and was writing my learners exam Monday morning. My first car followed shortly after, a 1980 Ford Mustang, beat up and beautiful. I promptly painted a Canadian flag on the grill and piled my girlfriends in so tightly, we were like a clown car, teen after teen bounding out of the hatchback, cool to our bones.

Then came the 1970 Volkswagen van, predictably without a heating system, we’d keep it from fogging up in the winter by opening all the windows and driving around wrapped in a giant duvet. When that beast’s engine turned over for the last time, I parked it on the lawn of the hair salon I’d just opened, painted the salon name on it called it a sign. I loved that vehicle like a trusted friend who came through for me one last time when I sold her carcass to make rent.

Then came that trustworthy Honda civic that could park anywhere, followed by a Volkswagen Cabrio who’s convertible top fulfilled so many of my needs for freedom and fresh air. That hot little car was left behind with my maidenhood when motherhood brought a minivan.

Driving has been a large part of how I’ve spent my time. It’s how I got around. Years ago I bought a bike with the intention of driving less and just couldn’t make the switch. I lived in Suburbia for over a decade and for some years commuted 40 minutes to work and so having a car was obvious, needed, mandatory.

I’d had this fantasy about what life could be like without a car. I could ride the bus more; get around by bike or take long walks. The notion was romantic. Fresh air. Exercise. People. Slower pace. Less stress. But as I have learned rather painfully many times, fantasy and reality rarely line up. So when I became vehicle free for the first time since getting my driver’s license, a year and a half ago, I wondered how long it would take before I broke down and got myself one of those shiny and practical Honda Fits.

Now, I’m not here to convince you to give up your car. I don’t think that’s my life’s work. Besides, it’s pretty great that the people around me have cars and are willing to lend them out from time to time because sometimes an hour long bike ride in the rain just sucks. But what I am inspired to share about is the incredible lifestyle shift this has been, giving up driving as my primary mode of transportation.

It can be hard to drive less when you own a vehicle and as someone who was totally dependent on my car it represented many things for me. Freedom and independence being the biggest, I could get where I wanted, when I wanted, quickly and easily. Convenient. Getting all the gear to get my ass on a bike, particularly when it rains as much as it does in Vancouver just seemed daunting. Buses are dirty and take forever and don’t even deliver you to the door. But it wasn’t until giving up driving that I truly felt the impact of the trap that it was.

It’s not uncommon for a person to spend $1000 a month on their car, what between payments, insurance, gas and parking. Then there’s maintenance. Traffic is a bitch and as much as I would breathe deeply and tell myself that there was no need to buy into the ‘traffic is stressful’ narrative, it just kind of is. The people around certainly look a lot more uptight and depressed than the folk soaring down tenth avenue with the wind in their hair. Even the culture of trying to get somewhere in a car, your fellow drivers, while sometimes courteous, are more often aggressive competitors, racing from red light to red light. The culture of a bus feels entirely different. We’re not all isolated, trying to beat one another to a destination, we’re in it together. While buses can bring all sorts of annoyances like teen girls crudely talking about their sexual escapades on little pink cellphones or drunk men stumbling over your stroller at 11am, they bring your neighbours and community right around you, the fellow humans that we miss out on when traveling from heated box to heated box in a heated box on wheels.

Since giving up my car, time has slowed down. It does take longer to get places (although in high traffic times, I can get through downtown way faster on my bike!) But suddenly I have to account for that time and I can’t be rushing about, trying to catch those five minutes on the road. The bus leaves when the bus leaves, catch it or miss it. I get more exercise and fresh air whether by bike or foot or those few blocks from the bus that we miss out on when walking from the front door to the curb. I feel more connected to the seasons, to the weather. I feel more connected to my city, discovering routes and neighbourhoods and beautiful places where cars can’t take me. I feel more grounded, connected to the people in my city as I see them moving from place to place like me. Mostly I experience a lot less stress (which I am reminded of every time I do drive,) and I encounter the stress of others less, not having to deal with road rage-aholics.

Of course there are inconveniences. But from this vantage point, they are fewer than those that came with my driving lifestyle. It’s not to say that I’ll never own a car again, but my identity as being a driver is certainly melting away alongside the responsibility of being a car owner. Making the switch has been a lot easier than I ever imagined and in this case, as rare as it is, reality has turned out to be better than the fantasy.