Although I wish it weren’t, money is important to me. Not in the sense that I necessarily want to have a lot of it, but in the sense that I want to make sure I’m spending the little that I do make intentionally. Part of that is setting aside a portion for philanthropy, even if it makes me grumpy sometimes when I’m feeling poor–the 10% that James gives seems untenable to me, but I still try for 5% of my income given to causes I support. Then of the rest, what doesn’t go toward paying for food and shelter can go toward travel and adventure.
Which means that the less I spend on stupid shit, the more I have for traveling purposes. Which is why I cringe at the thought of paying $2.50 to take the MAX or bus, for example, when my bike is a perfectly reasonable means of transportation. I hate redundant expenses.
But that being said, I did, indeed, take the MAX this evening–for only one stop, no less–because I thought I might kill myself trying to bike down the hill through Washington Park. I’m not sure if my tires are way more wussy this year or if I’m biking at icier times of day/night, or if the hill’s just accumulated more ice this year than years past. Probably a combination of the three. But my bike was all over the road once I got out of the zoo parking lot. And when a fellow coming the other direction told me he’d wiped out twice on his way up, I decided that the way down would be kind of lame. As much as I hate paying for that shit, tonight seemed like a good night for the MAX.