As a Southern Californian advocate for public transportation I just had to live in San Francisco. Moving liberated me from my automotive chains. No longer do I worry about finding a parking spot, paying outrageous gasoline fees, or receiving a ticket. But the transition from LA freeways to life on the bus took some getting used to. Often I am away from home the entire day, so I learned how to be resourceful and organized before venturing out in the city. I always ask myself, “What’s the forecast? Where am I going and how do I get there? Do I have enough food to last me seven hours?” Not that I’ve become a nomad, but living in San Francisco has brought out my adventurous spirit.
Though Belle and Sebastian sing in The State That I am In, “Riding on city buses for a hobby is sad/Why don't you lead me to a living end,” taking the bus is more pleasant than most would believe. You have shelter; you don’t have the anxiety that driving brings; you can sleep, read, listen to music, meditate or daydream. Of course you’ve got to accept what comes with travelling by bus: a mix bag of personalities, being off schedule, breaking down, and having less personal space. But anyway you commute there is always some small sacrifice. I find myself riding the bus, for what feels like 60% of my waking time. Because of it I’ve become more productive with other aspects of my life. I base when I leave the house, how much I am going to carry, and where I’ll end up in the city all on riding the bus. No longer do I sit in traffic in Southern California or feel too lazy to commute. Here in San Francisco the bus has become an extension of my home—a place where I can sit and ponder as the world pans by.
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