Comfort and Freedom

Old Route 66 runs right through the heart of Albuquerque, and I found this fitting mural on the side of a building along the route, not far from Guild Cinema where I've been spending a considerable amount of time recently filming for a project about arthouse theaters.

Getting in the car and heading out on a road trip is a defining feature of American culture. The freedom of the open road, diners and greasy spoons, billboards, long unhabited stretches, fantastic claims ("exit now to see the largest ball of twine!") and terrible motels, all part of the experience of driving a gas-guzzling machine somewhere, anywhere, just to get out there, get away, get lost a little, because we can and we are Americans.

I don't like driving (or being a passenger) really, but I do admit they offer a certain level of freedom paired with a fair bit of comfort. Driving a vehicle requires no physical exertion (compared to biking or walking). Vehicles make errands easier and faster. They offer climate control against the sweltering heat and freezing cold. I doubt I need to point out their virtues as I know very few people who forego owning a vehicle of some kind, fewer still who have never driven. People love their vehicles.

On the other hand, this comfort and convenience comes with a high price tag. Even if ludicrous desires for a showpiece type car are held at bay during the vehicle's purchase, they still have to be maintained, insured, and fueled. To pay for this, a job is needed, and a job requires the sacrifice of time and freedom. In the end, this is how we trade life hours for thing acquisition. The more things wanted in order to be comfortable or put on a good show for others or whatever, the less freedom, and the more life hours down the tube.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, the comfort and freedom relationship. The less comfortable I need to be, the more freedom I have. I don't have to pay in money or life hours for things I don't buy. If I can keep my expenditures closer to actual needs instead of making myself more comfortable, my freedom increases. I don't have to take care of, pack, store, clean, insure, fix, replace, deal with planned obsolescence or sell (at a loss down the road when I tire of it) what I don't buy.

This is not to say that I'm such a Cynic or Stoic that I don't indulge my wants, but I am trying to be mindful of when and why I do this and to push myself to accept more discomfort. I'm willing to be uncomfortable in order to maximize freedom. And this as well: embracing discomfort seems to be a multiplier for enjoyment when comfort does return. Like when I first got here to New Mexico, I wasn't able to get my solar power situated until late in sweltering July. That first bite of cold, refrigerated watermelon I took from the refrigerator powered by a solar system I figured out and set up? Unforgettable. Such a delicious experience.

Comfort is expensive. Freedom is priceless.