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I am one-tenth of the way through Why We Drive by Matthew Crawford and—as expected—I have so many conflicted feelings.

  1. I resent twenty years of a ninety minute (total) daily commute. Cars were the site of my misery.
  2. Cars are expensive to own and maintain and are a terrible investment. I’m cheap.
  3. I like peace and quiet. Where I live, (intentionally) loud cars, trucks, and motorcycles are a feature of daily existence.

It’s been a while since I found myself both strongly for and against a writer before the first chapter began. I take this as a sign that the book will be worthwhile.

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