Population Density & Decreased Happiness

[Listen to an audio version of this blog here.]

“I could jump right off this,” I thought, as I ran across a bridge that stretched over the Colorado river. In a not-so-macabre way, I’ve thought thoughts like this a lot. I could turn my steering wheel into a guardrail. I could fall off the side of a mountain. I could step off a curb at just the wrong time. I could slice my hand off while cutting into a squash. Someone could break into my apartment in the dead of night. Someone could mistake me for a deer in the midst of hunting season. Anything can happen, which is wonderful and terrifying and thrilling all at once.

The day before I ran across the bridge that stretched over the Colorado river, I car camped with a few of my friends on the edge of a town on the edge of the Grand Canyon. The air was cold, really cold, and the sky was dark and clear. We could see hundreds of stars. Thousands of stars, maybe, if anyone cared to count. A campfire burned brightly and I wanted to savor how still it was. I wanted this dark, quiet peacefulness always, and I sunk into it as if it was a big, comfortable sweater, soft from dozens of washings.

I live in Southern California where there is always something happening, always a million people on the road, always lights and noise. In Orange County alone, there are over 3 million people, and…