Sick Transit II
(Transit: The psychological deficit)
There was a time in my childhood when the automobile meant nothing to me. This was before adolescence, of course, before freedom meant to travel to a place where Mother couldn't reach me. At this time, geography was as it should be for all of us. My experience outside the home was a contiguous mass of the woods outside my home. It's not even right to use the phrase "outside the home," because my home, correctly, was connected to the woodsy world I travelled in with the Deckers next door. Contiguity may not seem like much, but it's a beautiful and healthy aspect of many of our childhood worlds.
The automobile, before I even realized it, robbed my mind of the capacity to correctly conceive of the contiguity of this world. I know my home, my work, the supermarket, but now they are individual locales, not parts relative to a greater scheme. As a child I could find my way through the woods to my local Stewart's - everything was one, there was no limit to direction. The road, with its oversimplified duality of direction, combats this by pretending two directions are enough. It is simply a line with turns. You know your home and you know your workplace, and you know the necessary turns, on that paved web dictated by others, to get from one to another. But the automobile has robbed our minds of all true points of reference, of the capacity for solo travel. Even disregarding the obstacle of distance, could we make our way to work and back, or even to the bowling alley and back, if deprived of the landmarks provided by the Department of Transportation? It is a sneaky form of dependance: you most likely wouldn't contest it, but by accepting the pavement as our sole means of transit we have acquiesced to government-approved destinations. Of course you can hike, but these days to hike is backwards, quaint, practically a throwback to a simpler day. Hiking is seen as a hobby; a liberal practice that is done occasionally for its own sake. It is no longer a means to an end. It is indeed no longer capable of being this, as most geographical ends have been moved farther than legs, as a means, can conveniently carry us.
Every commercial that advertises a new automobile contributes to the idea that the diversity in automotives is diversity in travel - and that a part of our identity is which car we select. Each is a swing of the axe, aimed, perhaps accidentally, at eliminating our capacity for self-directed travel. If ever I get a chance to return to my third-grade home and test my ability to walk to Stewart's via the woods alone, I'll know for certain whether I still have hope.
PostScript: This is only going to get worse as more and more cars are built with visual displays that no longer require us to know even lefts and rights - they tell you when to turn! Will our children even be able to mentally orientate their position in town, or their town's in the state? I, for one, will be buying mine maps of the county and pushing them outdoors.
