Moving through LA - challenges to sustainability
As I set out from my home in Marina del Rey, I eagerly hop on my bike, feeling the joy of a newfound hobby. I know it will be cold, so I bring a couple of layers, expecting the winter chill to arrive uninvited, just as it always does, slipping into the evening unexpectedly. Over time, I’ve become accustomed to this seasonal shift. I leave my house and take a right at the stop sign on my street corner, where the usual LA traffic doesn’t seem to care much for full stops or obeying the rules. After all, in a city this massive, can anyone really expect consistent traffic discipline?
I take the bike path along the canal, which runs parallel to Culver Boulevard. At times, the paths designated for cyclists and pedestrians feel like leftover remnants of a sprawling city. In a place like LA, so spread out and isolating, urban infrastructure and mobility choices remind me of Freud’s notion of Das Unbehagen in der Kultur—a "discomfort in civilization" or "discontent in culture." This idea points to the unease we feel when we are forced to coexist in shared spaces. In private spaces, we can indulge our impulses freely, but in public, we are compelled to conform to societal norms. This inherent discomfort arises because we are constantly aware of being observed, and the pressure to behave in accordance with social etiquette weighs heavily on us. In the private sphere, however, we are free to be ourselves with little consequence. Public spaces, on the other hand, force us into uncomfortable proximity with others, pushing us to constantly manage and monitor our behavior.
Despite the design flaws, this bike path is still better than the LA River bikeway—not because it’s smoother or more reliable, but because it’s less burdened by homeless encampments or public drug use. The path stretches for seven miles, which must have been a significant effort for a city like this, but it leads to the Expo Line metro station. I had researched ahead of time and found out that bikes are allowed on the train, which makes my journey much easier. I can save time, reduce my environmental impact, and arrive fresh for the event I’m attending, without the sweat and stink of a long ride.
The Expo Line, though reliable in its frequent service, is only one line running from west to east. In a city as large as LA, this hardly makes a dent in the transportation needs of its inhabitants. One of the key indicators of a successful public transit system is its ability to attract the upper-middle class. However, in LA, most people prefer to spend hours in their private cars, stuck in traffic, rather than use public transportation. The discomfort of shared spaces—exposure to noise, smells, and unfamiliar faces—seems to outweigh the benefits for many. This is the essence of Freud’s discomfort in public life: we’re forced to constantly self-monitor and conform to societal norms, a “contract” that ensures social order and peace.
The city’s design—geared towards private car ownership—reinforces this preference for isolation. The car has become the ultimate symbol of status, comfort, and individuality. It’s an identifier for wealth and taste, even though it’s now so commonplace that it hardly garners admiration. Despite the environmental costs and the traffic-induced frustration, the automobile remains a symbol of personal identity. Yet, the affordability of financing cars means that even those with poor credit can access this status symbol, but for those truly on the margins—those without the means to own a car—the public transit system becomes their only option. And, as public transit becomes associated with the marginalized, it becomes stigmatized.
Public transit could—and should—serve society as a whole, but in a city like LA, it’s often viewed as a last resort. It’s a system that reinforces inequality, rather than bridging the divide. Owning a car might seem like a solution to the urban sprawl and its associated inefficiencies, but it comes with its own set of hidden costs: time, money, frustration, and, often, a sense of loneliness. The comfort of private space in a car comes at a tremendous cost to society and the environment, with urban sprawl exacerbating issues of inequality, alienation, and unsustainable development.
I choose to resist the comfort of the car and the urban sprawl it perpetuates. I challenge myself to embrace discomfort, to break free from the temptation of easy solutions. I’m constantly looking for ways to push the boundaries of my own comfort—whether it’s jogging to shake off a hangover when all I want is to lie on the couch, or riding my bike in the cold and rain to adjust to the changing seasons. I reject the notion of fast travel, of ticking off the items on a bucket list, of rushing to see the popular sights and buy the souvenirs. These things, once revered, have become hollow in the age of social media and consumerism. I’d rather choose the slower path, the one less traveled, even if it means discomfort.
The challenge, however, lies in offering an alternative to the comfort and luxury that so many crave. How do we build a society where comfort doesn’t come at the expense of the environment or the most vulnerable? How do we resist the urge to succumb to the seductive nature of consumerism and its associated lifestyle? This is the monumental question we face, especially in cities like LA, where the urban sprawl and car-centric design keep us stuck in a cycle of self-destruction.
The bike paths I take are often disrupted by zoning transitions—from residential areas to industrial zones—making it harder to adopt cycling as a mainstream mode of transportation. These discontinuities create obstacles, making cycling seem impractical and dangerous. Yet, these paths, though imperfect, are a step in the right direction. The challenge is in making these paths safer, more consistent, and more integrated into the larger city infrastructure. Until we do, cycling will remain a niche, often ignored by the city’s planning and infrastructure priorities.
As I arrive at the LARTA conference at a WeWork building in downtown LA, I’m reminded of how deeply entrenched car culture is in this city. There’s no bike parking, and I’m told I can’t bring my bike inside the building. I’m forced to park it across the street in a car parking garage, where there’s no pedestrian or bike access. The irony of this situation isn’t lost on me. We talk about sustainability and innovation, yet the very buildings and spaces designed to foster progress remain mired in outdated thinking.
The conference itself is filled with interesting projects focused on climate tech. Entrepreneurs and innovators are raising capital to scale their solutions, each project aiming to make an impact on the world. The ideas presented are inspiring, and many of them could contribute to the achievement of several Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs). However, the disconnect between these forward-thinking projects and the urban environment they’re built within remains a challenge. If we’re truly committed to creating sustainable, equitable futures, we must rethink the very systems and spaces that we inhabit. Only then can we hope to create a world that values not just comfort, but genuine, lasting change.