Writing

The Pitfalls and Costs of Car Ownership (And I Need Your Advice!) Should I Sell My Car?

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Car-free or car-stuck?

I have an important question that I’d love people to weigh in on: Should I sell my car?

Logically, the question seems to have a very simple answer: yes.

I keep writing lists and outlining the reasons why I should sell my car (and why I shouldn’t) and the balance seems to lie heavily in favor towards selling my car. And yet I’m having the hardest time extricating myself from my car. Despite giving up several things during my current ambitions towards doing and having Less, I’m still having the hardest time with the idea of selling my car.

Why? I’m a practical, logical, pragmatic person: why is this so hard to do? Why is selling my car so difficult? Even with the facts laid out, staring me in the face, I’m having the hardest time selling my car.

The prelude: why I bought a car in the first place

I used to live completely car-free. I lived in different cities and each time, I only walked, bused, or biked to get around – occasionally living the high life and taking a taxi when I felt like being luxurious.

And then I moved to California.

I lived in San Francisco for a year and a half before caving and purchasing a car. In December 2009 I bought a brand new car.

I purchased a 2010 Toyota Matrix from a dealer, priced at $17,490, with a $1000 rebate for being a recent college grad. The Kelly Blue Book value of the car, at new, was $20,049.  My purchase price was $16,490. With taxes, registration, and fees, I forked over $19,009.  Well, I actually forked over nothing – NOTHING DOWN.  Instead I signed a promise to buy the car over the next three years.  (As a somewhat-savvy consumer, I secured a 3-year financing plan with 0% interest.)

Why did I buy the car? I purchased the car because I was living 40 miles from my job and commuting an hour each way (through San Francisco, across the Golden Gate Bridge and back), and there wasn’t sufficient public transportation to get me to and from my job – at least at the time I bought the car.

I have since owned and paid for the car for 12 months – which means I have already spent $6,800 on the car payments.  I have a remaining $12,200 left to pay on the car over a 2-year period.

We all know that cars are expensive – but how expensive are they really? The actual cost break-down:

Keeping and maintaining a car is incredibly expensive. Here is a breakdown of my monthly costs of car ownership (calculated from the aggregate of one year of driving). Looking at it on paper, I’m stunned. The cost of the car has been unbelievable. In one year, this is what I’m spending:

Car payments – $529 per month

Gasoline: (20,000 miles total, 25 mpg average, gas price is $3.15 in California, $2520 annually for gas) – $210 per month.

Maintenance: for one year (4 tune ups at $109 each) – $436 annually (for year one only), or $36 per month for maintenance.

Insurance: AAA Insurance – $109 per month.

Tolls and Fees: Crossing the Golden Gate Bridge every day ($5 each way) – $80 per month.

Parking: I’m lucky to have mostly free parking, unless I drive downtown. I spend about $50 a month in various parking fees. If you count the parking tickets from San Francisco’s crazy street-cleaning schedules and signage, then I spend an average of $37 a month in parking tickets (Thanks to Mint for alerting me to this). – $87 per month.

Drumroll, please.

Every month I spend approximately $1051 on my car.

$1051! What would I do with $1051 per month!

In addition, I have a substantial amount of debt from undergraduate and graduate student loans (more on that in a post coming soon) that I’m currently working hard to pay off. My student loan payments are to the tune of $700 per month. I’ll be honest: I struggle to make the car payment and the student loan payments each month.

Today: the current situation

In November, I moved back to San Francisco, because I couldn’t stand the long commute. Commuting through city traffic is tiring and psychologically draining – I quickly remembered why I disliked driving so much. In contrast, San Francisco is a hub of public transportation options – sometimes better or worse, depending on the neighborhood that you live in.

I now live 8 miles from my job in Sausalito. The drive takes about 15-20 minutes, depending on traffic. Parking at my job is easy, but parking in San Francisco is a nightmare – it can take up to 40 minutes to find a parking spot.  I have the option of purchasing a parking spot – but those cost upwards of $300 in a city like San Francisco, and I can’t stomach how much I’m already spending on the car alone.

I now have alterative means for getting to work – I can bike to work a few days per week, depending on the day and the weather. There is also a bus line that goes to and from my work on the hour, and takes about 30-40 minutes to get to work (it doubles my commute time, but I don’t have to worry about parking, driving, or concentrating on the road).

The (easy) conclusions – and some further hesitations

I’m starting to think that it makes sense for me to sell my car. Here are the reasons:

Living in a city – with ample public transportation, alternative car-sharing options, bicycle riding, and walking – makes having a car a luxury, not a necessity.

Getting rid of $12,200 of unpaid debt is a good thing. I simply don’t have the money – and thinking about paying for the car with my future earnings un-nerves me.

There are additional costs to car ownership – insurance, gas, parking, maintenance – that will continue to add up over time. (To the tune of about $450 per month, even after I’m done making the car payments)

The current value of my car ($14,000) is more than I owe on my payments ($12,200).

It aligns more with my current values in landscape architecture, city planning, and environmental behavior.

I like walking. I also enjoy busing, biking, and exploring different forms of public transportation.

To further underscore the reasons I should sell my car:

A car is a depreciating asset, and will not add any value over time. Struggling to make these payments does not help me reduce or eliminate debt in other areas of my life.

Public transportation to work costs $4 each way, or approximately $160 per month.

If I also choose to use a car-sharing program (like zipcar or city car share) on the weekends, I would spend between $50 and $75 for a half to full day of weekend use – but the cost would be elective, and not fixed.

If I don’t spend the money on the car, I can spend the money on: ___________ (fill in the blank: student loans, emergency fund, freedom fund, retirement savings, 401K, Kiva Entrepreneurs, etc)

I’m not sure where I’m going to be living in the next 3-5 years, and one of my dreams is to live abroad for a year and learn a new language. (If I do this, I won’t be taking a car with me).

No decision is permanent. If I do end up absolutely needing a car in the future, I could always buy a new car. Selling this one does not mean that I’m never allowed to own a car again.

Last minute hesitations: Some of my fears.

I am a little bit worried that it’s a mistake to sell my car after owning it for one year – it seems that I run the risk of losing the most money that way. Some people tell me that I should wait it out for the next two years, buckle down, and just finish making the payments – because I need a car and can’t possibly live without one. (Is this really true?) People also suggest that it’s foolish to buy a brand new car and sell a car within the first year of ownership.

However, I also know that sunk costs are sunk costs: what I’ve already spent on the car is gone. What I spend in the future is still up for determination. Do I want to spent $1051 per month on a car for the next two years? (that’s $25,244!)

It seems painfully clear, on paper, that I should sell my car. And yet I get in and drive it every single day – to teach swim lessons after work, to go to dinner parties, to meet up with people at new events, on trips to Tahoe, on excursions beyond the city limits to do fun things.

I am somewhat afraid of selling my car. I’m worried that I’ll miss it a lot after I sell it – and I will wish that I hadn’t sold it. Psychologically and emotionally, I’m attached to it.

Also, I’m stubborn: I don’t to admit I made a mistake in buying the car in the first place.

Tell me, what should I do? Can I afford to sell my car? Can I afford not to?

Cultivate an attitude of gratitude

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Cultivate an Attitude of Gratitude.

Okay, so I’m relatively new to the blogging world. Forgive me, but I didn’t know who Leo Babauta was until about 4 months ago, and I didn’t read blogs regularly.  Previously, I was too focused on being a graduate student and trying not to be miserable while studying/doing/thinking about landscape architecture 100% of the time.

In the last six months, one of my favorite things to do has been explore blogs and brilliant websites slowly and learn more about the wonderful authors behind them. Perhaps I finally understand what it means to “surf the internet”- and continually be amazed and humbled by the brilliance that is social connectivity. Today, we have the opportunity to meet so many like minds and great thinkers, all while curled up behind our computers.  Strange, odd, and downright wonderful.

I really love the expression “curling up with a good blog.” Just like books, blogs are big, deep, rich efforts that chronicle the thinking of their authors over time, through different topics, through different adventures.  In the age of the iPad and the Kindle, I love sitting in my favorite chair and reading one blogger for an hour or two. I usually save these for early weekend mornings, late evenings, or times when I enjoy reading – when I’m not in the middle of a book or project at that moment (ahhh, who am I kidding, I’m always in the middle of a book).

The blogger IS real. Just as you learn about me each time I post, or if you stumble onto this corner of the internet and find an essay or article I’ve written, I also get to learn about my favorite bloggers by doing one of my favorite things … reading.

So, without further ado, here are some of the bloggers that really rocked my world in the last few months of 2010. I am incredibly humbled and grateful for the people out there who each teach, guide and explore the world through their writing and thinking. These are phenomenal people, talented writers, and amazing thinkers. I’d like to meet them ALL in person – (many of them I already have!) – just to say thanks for writing and for being spectacular. And, I’d encourage them to keep writing | doing | being.

Bloggers and Resources I love (and am grateful for!)

Unconventional Thinking, Freedom, Escape:

The Art of Non-Conformity, by Chris Guillebeau. (And the book!)
Escaping the 9-to-5, by Maren Kate.
Ridiculously Extraordinary, by Karol Gajda.
Advanced Riskology, by Tyler Tervooren.

Life, Career Design, Happy-ness

Life After College, by Jenny Blake (and check our her awesome new book, here!)
Kunbre Blog, by Brett Kunsche.
Everyday Bright, by Jennifer Gresham.
Illuminated Mind, by Jonathan Mead.

Crack me up Awesome + Smart

The Middle Finger Project, by Ashley Ambirge.
White Hot Truth, by Danielle LaPorte.
Evolvify, by Andrew Badenoch.

Money + Finances

Get Rich Slowly, by J.D. Roth.
I Will Teach You To Be Rich, by Ramit Sethi.
Man Vs. Debt, by Adam Baker.

Less + Minimalism:

ZenHabits, by Leo Babauta.
FarBeyondTheStars, by Everett Bogue.

For Writers and people new to blogging:

CopyBlogger
WritetoDone (and check out their Top Writing Blogs for 2010)
A-List Blogging
Think Traffic

Some kick-ass websites I’d just like to throw out there:

Information Is Beautiful
The 99 percent
Inc.
TED. “Ideas worth spreading.” (Listen to one every day!)
The Launch Coach
50 NetSetters

Have any great blogs you want to share? I’m all ears.

And an endnote on focus and reading blogs: I find that trying to keep up with everyone all the timecan be counter-productive – I don’t have time for email subscriptions while working (it sort of hinders the focus I try to cultivate when writing and/or designing at work).  So I sign up to my favorites, fill up my “blog” inbox, and then when I feel like reading … I scroll through the inbox like I’m perusing a book shelf, flip through a few titles of recent articles, and inevitably, an author hooks me. I click on their website. If it’s a new one, I start at the front, I look through the website, and I check out the gallery, I read the about pages and the manifestos. If I’m hooked for good, I’ll go to the archives. And I read – I skim through some of the older posts, stopping to check out the great content, flagging my favorite posts and essays (on Delicious or in my own link system that I keep). If your writing really stands out, I’ll send you an email. I love meeting new people for coffee, wine, or a random other event.

Cheers to some fabulous thinking, writing, and being in 2010. Each of you impress me, amaze me, and inspire me.

*** *** ***

Image, above, found via bancroft & ivy. Original Source: http://www.jimdenevan.com/

Difficulty reveals who you really are.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Difficulty reveals who you really are.

When it’s hard, you learn who you really are. Difficulty reveals character. Difficulty shows you what you are passionate about – and lights a fire under your skin to go after what you really want.

We learn from the tough times, from the trenches, from the down-trodden, life-is-the-pits moments.  When you start thinking, “I don’t want this,” and you learn what works and you strive for something else. More often than not, we learn when it’s HARD.

Giving up things – and giving away Stuff – is hard. I have had the hardest time cleaning out my bookshelves and throwing or giving my Stuff away.  I’m nowhere near minimalist (although more and more I dream of it). On the blog zen habits, Leo Babauta talks about the slow process that is de-cluttering and simplifying your life.

“Simplicity. It is a lovely ancient spiritual tradition that has seen a recent resurgence in popularity.  As we try to make sense of our erratic economy and the accompanying financial anxiety, it is natural to leap to a less risky lifestyle extreme — stop spending, scale back, live lean.

But let’s be real here. In spite of embracing the concept of simplicity, most people really love their stuff, and they love acquiring more stuff. Like our attitudes about a healthy diet, our feelings about material things are complicated. We know what’s good for us, but we just don’t want to give up what we like. Our stuff makes us feel good.”

Living with less means choosing, often choosing between two things that are both great and important. I find that an incredibly apt metaphor for life. It’s not “can we have everything,” but, “what is the most important thing that I want?” Life, money, happiness, balance, goal setting – it all relates to this concept. What is first? What is most important? What are the few things that you cannot live without, because they are what your life is about?

Sometimes it gets hard – making these decisions, sticking through the tough times, and saying no to things even when they are tempting.  In each case, you get to learn through the experiences and the lessons that it teaches. In these tougher times – those hard moments – it will reveals who you really are.

Smile and be courageous.

*** *** ***

Lessons from Less started as a small sigh and a simple project experimenting with the ideas of Yes + No, More + Less.  To read the entire list, check out the category Lessons from Less.

Like what you read here? My marathon week of writing every day is about to come to a close (as I head back to work), but my goal for 2011 is to write at least 2 posts per week.  If you’d like to stay in touch, feel free to send me an email. You can also find me on twitter, like this on facebook or subscribe to new posts.

2010 in review: travel

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

#Reverb10 offers a month of reflection and prompts for each day. I’m doing a handful of them on this blog, plus a few of my own for a 2010 in review series. December 22 is about Travel. How did you travel in 2010? How and/or where would you like to travel next year?

Travel.  What a lovely word. What a lovely year.

In lieu of another essay, I’ll leave it to a few photos to catalog and capture this year. Here are just some of the photographs from this whirlwind year. (For more images, take a look at photos + places on my design website)


jackson hole.

march

taipei, taiwan

august

portland.

august

seattle.

august.

los angeles.

august, october, + november.

san francisco.

(hometown).

ohio.

october.

philadelphia.

october.

can’t wait until 2011 … Happy New Years! to another year of exploration :)


2010 in review: achieve

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

#Reverb10 offers a month of reflection and prompts for each day.

December 28 is achieve: Tara Sophia, the author, prompts us to look beyond the goals and the lists that we create – and instead, imagine the feeling that each of these achievements creates. When we reach a certain goal, we have attained more than a paper or certificate or acknowledgment – we certainly don’t work hard just for the kudos alone. We achieve our goals because through sustained effort, we grow. Our goals change us, in some way. Looking forward, for 2011, rather than just creating a list of goals, this question asks us what feelings we want to achieve in the next year.

*** *** ***

These are some of the feelings I want to achieve in 2011:

Strong. I want to be physically strong, stronger and more flexible in ways that I haven’t shaped my body just yet. I want to say yes to new physical challenges, try more difficult yoga poses, and sign up for longer, more diligent practices. I want to spend more time dancing, rock climbing, doing martial arts, and trying any other physically-enabling task that lets me stretch, strengthen, and re-shape my body in different ways.  The tangible, check-able items on my goals list range from being able to do the splits, to doing handstands on my own, to increasing to a 5.10 level at the climbing gym. The long-range goals include yoga teacher training, teaching my own yoga classes, swimming across the SF bay solo, and learning how to salsa dance well enough to shake my tush at a mixer without an instructor.

Inspired. I want to feel the rush of inspiration that comes from long, sustained thinking about a certain topic. I want to write. I want to think, to ponder, to speculate, to question, and to continue to feed my unending curiosity about the world and what it has to offer. On the tangible list of things I’d like to achieve: write 2 blog posts per week for the next year. Write 12 short stories for a collection of short fiction. Write my first fiction book. Write my first e-book. Outline and research my first non-fiction book. (Okay, all those goals collectively might take longer than a year).

Alive. The things that make me feel alive are simple. The weather. Changing temperatures. Colors. Light. Contrast. Exertion. Hard work. Being outside. Hugs. Family. Camaraderie.  On a daily basis I try to engage with these things that make me feel alive – this is one of the reasons I love running, swimming, walking, being in the rain, toasty fires, and exploring new places.  For 2011, my goals are to travel to at least 1 new state, travel to at least 1 new country, swim across the San Francisco Bay solo, run a full marathon, and continue on my goal of running, walking, or biking every street in San Francisco.

Exhilarated-Exhausted. Challenged. Frustrated. Tired. Alive.  I like projects that leave me feeling BOTH exhilarated AND exhausted. I love working hard, when the hard work is for something that’s huge. Something I’m completely, utterly, totally passionate about. The thrill of publishing a book after a year of endless nights of hard work is something I dream about — and I know will make me feel both exhilarated and exhausted. Running a marathon would be the same.

Accomplished. I like trying new things. I like checking off lists. I like feeling like I’ve grown, stretched, matured, reached. This sense of accomplishment comes not from early success, but from the dips and double-dips in confidence that occur when you realize how vast the world is and how much there is to learn and study, and then slowly, you relegate yourself to the long and arduous task of accomplishing or conquering, in baby steps, the skill you set out to acquire. Mastering a concept, or contributing a thought towards it, is accomplishment. For 2011: I’d like to put my thoughts on paper, put my ideas out there, and be not afraid of failing. I’d rather try, fail, and try again than never try at all. (Well, perhaps I’d like just to succeed, but in the absence of pure success I’ll take repeated efforts that teach and lead me to success).

Surprised. My most remarkable days happen when my calendar flies out the car window and I end up talking to strangers on the street and making friends on buses. I meet new people every day, and their agility, talent, wisdom and friendship just surprises me to no end. I hope to never stop being surprised and amazed by the people around me. For 2011, I’d like to surprise someone, perhaps do things that surprise even myself, and continue to let people around me surprise me and fill me with genuine wonder. (To the South Africans I met on the bus yesterday: YES, I’d LOVE to come to Cape Town and swim with you… Just get me a shark cage, okay?)

Exposed. The greatest growth potential comes not from living within safety, but living on the edge. I don’t particularly love the feeling of fear that comes from unknowing, but I’ve lived just long enough to realize that not-knowing and being exposed is one of the best teachers. So, to putting myself out there. To trying new things. To leaping, unconditionally, when your soul tells you to leap and try something new. To building new ideas, projects, businesses, and friendships.

Loved. Appreciation, friendship, admiration, respect, love, caring: these are all words that people bestow on other people. The power of tribes, the amazing-ness of community, the awesomeness that is family: these are things that I cannot ever imagine my life without. I feel loved on a daily basis, and it is from this platform that I feel lucky enough to do what I do and try what I try. I hope that EVERYONE has the opportunity to feel this way. For 2011: I don’t ask for more love for me from anyone, although I love love and I believe it’s an element that comes in abundance. :) Instead, I hope that something I do, somehow, can help other people achieve more love in their lives.

Me. In 2011, I don’t want to be anyone but ME. I hope that the person I am rings through and the things that I do are in line with my beliefs and my unique talents. I can’t be you, and you can’t be me. The most important thing is to use this limited time that we have and use our talents to the best extent possible.

*** *** ***

Merry Christmas and Happy New Years, Everyone! What do you want to achieve in 2011? Who do you want to be, and what do you want to do?

Photography from Flickr – Billsophoto

2010 defining moment: running.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

I run.

This year, I ran a lot. Ran for sheer joy, out of exhaustion, to escape my work life, to find new places, to learn, and to start or end my day. I ran to explore, to test my capabilities, to challenge my mind, and most often, just to be.

To simply be.

The defining moment of this year is not a single moment per se, but a series of moments laced together, all connected by a simple act and a pair of shoes lined up at my bedroom door, waiting for me each day.

Running.

It took a long time for me to realize that I was a runner. It took a lot of just running for me to acknowledge that I was a runner – 2 years’ worth of running, in fact.

Now I can’t imagine myself without running.

Just the act of stepping on the earth really lets you feel it, get to know it better. They say that the closer you are to the ground, the more connected you are to the earth. (Perhaps this is another reason why I love handstands and headstands so much…) But in the absense of inversion, running lets you feel the earth.

So many days I just closed my books and put up this sign:

Gone running.

*** *** ***

Tuesday, March 3, 2010. San Mateo.

My toes, covered loosely in my weathered sauconys, expand to grip the pavement below, softly splaying outwards as the impact rolls across the ball of my foot.  The thud rolls through my heal, knee and leg, bending and releasing in an evolutionary precision designed before my simple body walked this earth.

The vernacular ‘pounding the pavement’ sounds heavy, awkward, cumbersome. I’m not so light as to float, nor am I so quick as to scamper like a four-minute miler, but I move. I move efficiently, quickly, steadily.

Running rights the world, putting it in line with my breath, my step, and my feeling.

3 miles.

*** *** ***

Saturday, March 20, 2010. Santa Cruz

What the weather is, I am. When it rains, I run, and the dampness only bothers me until I’m completely soaked, and then it’s just me, the earth, and the running. If I wear the cotton pants, the weight of the water will drag my pant legs downwards and water will slosh in and out of my shoes. So instead, next time, I wear shorts. If it’s cold, I wear the nicer pants – the pants I bought for too much money at yet another store filled with products, products from all over the world, products that no body really needs and I feel guilty for buying them.

But I like them. They are definitely comfortable.

When I think too hard, the relentless drumbeat of my footstep brings my brain back in synch with my body, balancing my thoughts with my movements, all in the present.

5 miles.

*** *** ***

Saturday, April 3, 2010. Lake San Antonio.

Wildflower Training Weekend, San Francisco Triathlon Club. My first 25 mile bike ride. Long, wobbly legs after the hilly bike ride and we’re off, off running through the campground on jello-feet, thudding awkwardly along. I think I understand why they call this a “brick.”

7 miles.

*** *** ***

Tuesday, May 11, 2010. San Francisco.

Track. The weekly circular jogging group – learning how to train faster, quicker, and add speed. My first mile for time: 6:59. Track relays.

5 miles.

*** *** ***

Saturday, June 3, 2010. Pacifica.

Trail Run, Pacifica. 6 miles.

Too fast, too fast! The hills at the end were brutal.

6 miles.

*** *** ***

Sunday, July 11, 2010. Sausalito.

The world cup finale blares on the television. My roommates and I are too excited for worlds. We squeal, jump, and hold our breath for a heart-agonizing 2 hours.

I run off the steam. I run, imagining the soccer players and hearing the vuvuzelas over again in my mind, the buzz drowned out only by the wonderful world cup anthem that is my theme song for nearly the entire summer. I run, imagining the work effort and the dedication of each of the players to the craft of running, and I run, for the simple joy and freedom that is running. I don’t want to stop running.

8 miles.

*** *** ***

Sunday, July 25, 2010, San Francisco. Half Marathon.

I’m up early – very early, 3:30AM, driving across the Golden Gate Bridge from the North, heading into the city with 20,000 other people to participate in the San Francisco Marathon. I’m nervous. It’s my first half marathon. I’ve had 2 cups of water and carry a small amount of food with me. I have an ipod of music prepped for 2.5 hours. My goal is to finish under 2:15, but I’ve never run a half marathon before and I’m going to be happy with whatever comes from my body. I feel prepared. I stretch.

I hate being thirsty, so I carry my water bottle with me. At the last minute, I ditch my sweater and give it to my friend at the starting line. 5:30 AM and the first heat takes off. 6:02 AM and my wave is off.

I run, steadily, telling myself to take it easy. (It’s hard – I’m really excited, and I’m a sprinter by training from 20 years of swimming). I relax into a pace that doesn’t feel too hard and I look at my splits – 9:30’s for the first 3 miles. Not too bad. I settle into a pace and strike up a conversation with someone next to me. We chat for a mile. 4 miles. I work into it – it feels great. I pick up the pace a bit, approaching the bridge. I still feel good.

Somewhere between miles 5 and 8 I miss a mile marker and I don’t track my splits very well. As I’m crossing the bridge back towards the city, I see the mile 9 sign. I check the watch.  1:31. I do some quick math – 9 minute splits? I realize that with a little bit more effort, I can nudge myself under the 2 hour mark. I pick up the pace again. 8:30 for the next mile. AWESOME. Mile 11, 8:45 minutes. Heading into some hills. The last 2 miles are an absolute struggle – my body starts to cramp up, and the training runs I remember doing were all shorter than this distance.

Finish time. 1:57:30. I did it.

Half Marathon.

 

Comparisons are ruthless.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Yoga class. A practice in relaxing, in breathing, in being in the present.

And yet, I find I’m doing it again – yes, I’m guilty! Do you ever compare yourself to the person next to you? It seems there will always be a better yogi. The teacher gently reminds the class that we’re all perfectly fine at this exact moment in time, in this place in space. We embrace our bodies as they are, and we reach for change slowly, surely, in our own realms.

Comparisons are awful, for two reasons. First: perhaps you compare yourself to someone greater than you. There will always be a better yogi.  I Sigh. I can’t reach or bend as far as the next guy. Comparing to someone greater or better than you – and judging yourself for it afterwards – leaves you feeling deflated, uninspired, or depressed.

The opposite type of comparison is equally terrible. Perhaps you’re a bit better in yoga, and you reach farther and bend “better,” and you fluff out your chest a bit in self-appreciation. Your comparison – and your self worth – is directly related to the people around you.

How good or bad you are relative to other people doesn’t matter. What matters is you, in your body, in your space.  Your mind, your contribution. YOU.

Are you judging yourself?

Comparing yourself to others?

Or worse: comparing yourself to what you think you ought to be?

Comparisons are ruthless. Comparisons NEVER. END. You can get lost in the ether that is the internet, finding people who have similar ideas, stories, goals, beliefs, products as you. (Sometimes this is great – I’ve met some of the smartest, funniest, and most interesting people online, because blogging lends itself to the creation of communities of like-minded people.)

At the same time, there’s always the possibility for comparisons. Comparing twitter counts, or followers, looking at status updates, and friends online, finding other people who’ve done more or better than you.

For the most part, there will almost always be somebody better and brighter or more talented than you. And you can always find counter examples.

It doesn’t matter.

Comparisons are ruthless. If you spend your time comparing yourself to someone or something else, you will inevitably find a difference. And with that difference comes judgment.

Stop judging.

One of the most powerful forces in our consumer culture is to look at the possessions around us and crave more. More of this, more of that. Want, want, want. Comparisons drive wants, needs, and desires.

Be content with what you have. Practice living with less. Give away stuff instead of accumulating stuff.

Lesson from Less #6. Comparisons are ruthless.

*** *** ***

Lessons from Less started as a small sigh and a simple project experimenting with the ideas of Yes + No, More + Less.  To read the entire list, check out the category Lessons from Less.

2010 in review: ordinary joy

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

#Reverb10 offers a month of reflection and prompts for each day. I’m slowly catching up, and enjoying the prompts, however delayed. December 27 is ordinary joy.

*** *** ***

Yesterday I ran to the bus stop, almost missing the bus, to jump on the 38L and transverse San Francisco, east to west. My apartment is close to downtown, and the pool I teach swim lessons in is out in the boonies – also known as the Inner Richmond.

(I look silly, when I’m running in the rain in this city. I dress for warmth and function, not glamour, when I’m in the middle of DO-ing. And I am vaguely aware of the strange looks I get as I run by people on the sidewalks – but why walk when you can RUN?

My typical rainy weather attire includes a long blue jacket, a bright red vest, and a rain slicker. Oh, and I tuck my hair upwards into a brown hat. Mostly because these items of clothing are WARM.  And it keeps me dry. Oh, and my Sauconys. You can’t find me without my Sauconys.)

And then I ran.

On the bus, I tagged the bus card, pulled out the book I’m currently reading out of my backpack (forgot to mention: backpack adds to nerdiness, above). I started reading. Somewhere in the middle of the book, I looked up.

The man across from me was looking at me.  Well, I think he was looking at me.

I glanced at his face and then at his clothes – his soft, tan cargo pants full of crinkles and his 5 or 6 year old, unassuming shoes  – before my eyes automatically darted back up to his face and his head.  My eyes inadvertently widened slightly as I noticed his complete figure.

His face was a dimpled carcass of tans, reds, and taught pinks, with a small slit for his left eye and a slightly bigger opening for the right eye. The entire left side of his face was covered in tight, stretched, charred skin. His hair was missing from one side of his head, with a tuft of hair spouting off the right side, uncombed and probably due for a hair cut. His ear was burned off with nothing but a hole left.  Instead of an ear, it was one continuous surface with a small, dark inlet where the ear canal would have been. It looked as though his ear had been cleanly sliced off and the remains of his face was a burn mark.

And he smiled at me.

He smiled, and then pointed down to his lap, where he was holding a big black box with stickers and numbers and sounds. The bus pulled up to a stop. The box declared, “Franklin.”

Then the bus announcer, in an echo, announced “Next stop, Franklin, Franklin, Next Stop.”

The man giggled.

*** *** ***

We all carry scars, wounds, and trauma. Some of it is emotional, some physical. Some of us have healed, some of us are healing, some of us are still struggling. Much of it we can cover up – with clothing, with a stance, with a smile, with an attitude. But the face: the face you can’t hide, you can’t cover up as easily.

Scars on the face beget curious stares, shocked stares, long looks and wide eyes. It’s disrupting to see something out of the ordinary, something different, something unusual. I admire this gentleman, because of the poise and happiness he carried with him through his movements. He sat, at ease, enjoying the noise and the announcement of the bus stop.

Laguna.

He laughed again, and pointed to the box.

The woman next to him adjusted her seat without looking up. The bus rattled over potholes and creaked to a stop.

Webster.

“Webster!” He cried, throwing his hands up.

What fun, what play, to get on a bus and enjoy the stops and the starts and the ride it gives you through the city.

What an unexpected joy for me, to run into such happiness unplanned. Riding the bus always presents characters, but sometimes, on rare lucky days, it presents moments.

And people – raw people.

To enjoy life with such unabashed pleasure – that is the goal.

To experiences of ordinary joy.

It starts with Gentle.

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

Be kind to yourself.

You are doing OK. There may be a hundred things running around in that brain of yours, but slow down long enough to take a break.

My dove chocolate today said it nicely: It’s okay not to do everything.

Breathe.

You won’t do everything.

You won’t finish everything, your life will change, and things will be different.

Be right here, right now. Today.

The things that seem so important today won’t matter so much a few weeks from now. In a few years, your priorities will be different. Perhaps you’ll have a new job, or a new idea, or a new project.

Breathe again.

Be gentle with yourself. Being gentle means that when you get to the end of the day, you’re done. You’ve done a lot of work. Don’t be too harsh on yourself.

Go slowly. Make big changes by taking small steps, one piece at a time. Be okay with yourself when you fail, when you struggle, or when you fall – because trying is better than not doing anything at all. Learn from your mistakes. Take time to reflect. Allow yourself the grace to step back and say, this isn’t working; perhaps I’ll try something new.

Just breathe.

Be kind to yourself. You’re doing pretty well.

2010 in review: photo

Posted on by Sarah K Peck

#Reverb10 offers a month of reflection and prompts for each day. I’m slowly catching up, and enjoying the prompts, however delayed.

December 25 is a photo:


This was in Philadelphia, at Penn’s Landing by the Delaware River, with two of my closest friends, Matt and Alexandra. Photograph by Matt Sklar.

*** *** ***

Philadelphia. Oh, Philadelphia, I’ve missed you.

This was October.

A Sunday morning.

That morning, I slept through my first flight. I, Sarah Peck, queen of the prompt and on-time and organized, completely missed my plane flight from Columbus, Ohio to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

I woke up, bleary-eyed, at 7:24 AM and looked at my phone, lying next to me in the bed. My flight’s departure time was 6:00 AM. I was supposed to have left by 4:30 AM to catch my flight. The panicked feeling of being late for something rushed in and tried to take hold, but I was so utterly, ridiculously, impossibly late that panicking wasn’t an option. My flight was already out the door, and the flight attendants overhead were somewhere between drink delivery and trash pick-up. And I, well, I was still in bed.

I peeled back the covers and crawled out of bed.  The floors creaked in the old victorian house, and I tried not to wake my friends Mary or Erik. I tiptoed to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I rubbed my eyes. The door of the second bedroom slowly opened. Mary, clad in her pajamas and slippers, looked at me fuzzily without putting her glasses on. 7:26 AM.

“Did you miss your flight?”

I nodded, sheepishly, feeling somewhat like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Oh. Oh no!”

I changed into my jeans, shrugged, and said, well, here’s hoping for the best.  I pulled the sheets back up on the bed and headed out to the car.

*** *** ***

I ended up six hours late to Philadelphia, detoured on stand-by through Washington, D.C., but still made it. My friends, some of my best friends in the world, directed me to the nearest riverfront destination, and I ran straight from the airport to the water, grabbing a hold of two plastic cups for – what else?

Beer tasting.

My old city.

Unlimited beer, more friends, and —

a spontaneous dance-a-thon.

Moments like this can’t be captured in words. They must be captured in pictures. Here are a few more of the priceless photos from a day spent partly in Ohio and partly in Philadelphia: