Peace and Planning

To keep activity up as my energy dipped with the change of clocks and seasons, I experimented this fall with taking Tulip the folding bike for rides along the National Mall. These rides filled me with gratitude that this light form of exercise served triple duty, not only getting me out to catch the day’s waning rays of vitamin D and fresh air while I fit in some much needed movement, but also giving me ample time to puzzle through whatever task was waiting on my desk and inviting me into a kind of embodied fieldwork. About half of my ride was along the streets that bordered our exquisite collection of Smithsonian museums – even amidst the government shutdown, there was still a steady stream of tourists crossing the road, tour buses idling (ugh 😷) at the curb, and car drivers commuting home. The other half of my ride took me along the calm waters of Constitution Gardens and the reflecting pool in front of the Lincoln Memorial (at this point I often wondered – no idea why – if anyone had ever called him “Abe the Babe” 🤔). Rather than speeding cars and hulking buses, these quieter stretches of public right-of-way featured a plethora of modest modes, from seated and standing scooters to bikes of all shapes and sizes to hoverboards and onewheels and rollerblades, oh my.

Each streetscape (I’m at a loss for a word that encapsulates streets as well as these off-street paths) was chock full of opportunities to observe how different road (again, for lack of a better word) users interact as they navigate their built environments. In particular, these rides got me thinking about how the three principles foundational to the ethics of care – respect, attentiveness, responsiveness – would show up in intermodal behavior. I’ll have a lot more to say about this as I kick off a new research project in the New Year, but one ride was particularly illuminating in this regard. Swapping a mall journey for a grocery store ride one day, I turned down a street – typically teeming with car drivers headed home – to find it eerily empty of cars. The quiet that greeted me in their absence had an unexpected benefit – as I was peddling down the block I noticed a murmuration above, circling in the sky and squeezing between buildings as dusk arrived. As I slowed to a coast to take in the scene, I was not only able to watch the birds dancing but could also hear the swish of their sudden rapid descent into a tree, swiftly swooping as if drawn to it like a magnet.

The rapture I felt experiencing this glorious avian phenomenon is one I recall often – and is one that was only possible without the din and danger posed by car drivers rushing to their next destination. After this encounter I thought back to my mall rides and how often the presence of cars – their movement, speed, proximity, noise – forced me to pay attention to them. This made it all the harder to stay alert for pedestrians approaching the crosswalk or to be aware of people riding bikes at a faster pace than me and trying to pedal ahead…let alone to feel connected to the gifts of nature around me. It made me think that a street designed to foster an ethics of care would mean that any one person’s movement would not take attention from others – as car drivers revving their engines or close passing me do daily – but rather give their attention to others as we all try to move through the world with dignity, safety, and perhaps even wonder.

So the next time you find yourself laser focused on avoiding harm while moving through your built environment – and in turn not able to give your attention to other road users you encounter so that we may all offer each other some grace – I invite you to get curious: what comes to mind when you imagine a peaceful transportation system? ✌️🚸