Snowstorms, Cars, Stockholm Syndrome

So, Boston got a little snow today. After over 12 years in Boston, this is the first winter where I haven't relied on my car for day-to-day transportation. I can take the bus to the subway to get to school, and even yoga. We also live 1/2 mile from two grocery stores. So this morning I woke up and realized that while yes, my husband and I would clear our cars off and clear our driveway, my existence does not depend on these things right now. That's a pretty good feeling.

Our cars, after the snowstorm

In between shoveling spells, I'm furthering my thesis research, and reading about mindful city planning. I encountered a great blog, Walkable Dallas-Fort Worth. The author notes the following:

"The American love affair with the car...it's an awful lot like Stockholm Syndrome."

It occurs to me today how true that is. People tend to think of cars as their liberation, but on a day like today, it seems that not needing to rely on a car is true freedom. The car and the lack of urban planning that necessitates it is a captive force, not a liberating one. Don't believe what Chevy et. al. might tell you.

Steelcase on the Flexible Office and Worker Happiness

I think this piece actually identifies why I found my first 9-5 job so stifling compared with the Cornell campus. The idea that you are at a desk (or in my case in the lab or at a desk, so I had it better than most) for a straight 8 hours is sort of a shock to the system. I missed the ability to structure my day more organically, choosing to do some reading at a coffee shop for 2 hours, then meet up with friends to tackle a problem set, then hole up in a library somewhere... One of my favorite parts of being a student again is that freedom of place. NESAD has 5 PC computer labs, plus rooms with drafting boards, plus its little library. Then I also have my home office as an option. It's not quite the Cornell campus, but the idea is the same.

Life as a Board Game

So, I started reading The Mansion of Happiness by New Yorker writer Jill Lepore. She begins by talking about several board game representations of one's trajectory through life. Really, what could be a more revealing way to depict an idea of "what it's all about" than a board game, which includes both a method to propel a player through the game (Is it all random? Is there a strategy? Does it literally pay to go to college, or be virtuous?), and some metric that determines how you're doing (Is this determined by progress relative to the other players? By the accumulation of money? Children? Landing on square that simply informs you that you are happy?).

Fascinating. I'll just let that hang in the air and share some images of the old board games she discusses.

The Mansion of Happiness. This one invented in the 1840s by the daughter of a minister...good Christian virtues are rewarded with a mansion. Because obviously. Look at the pope and every televangelist!

"The Mansion of Happiness" game board

The Checkered Game of Life. This one invented by Milton Bradley HIMSELF circa the Civil War, and carried in Union soldier's backpacks as part of a travel set that included checkers and backgammon. Because after a day of being shot at, it's great to unwind by playing a board game where part of the object is to avoid landing on the square marked 'suicide.' Fun!

"The Checkered Game of Life"

Then, of course, to raise the Baby Boomers up right, there was "The Game of Life," which focuses on accumulating money and filling plastic cars with little blue and pink pegs to represent your consumerist offspring. This one was reissued many times. My brother and I had it. I don't think its message really took, THANKFULLY.