No matter how happy they are with the changes they’ve made, some things have been lost. For Conlin, the thrill of shopping is gone. A few months after the experiment ended, she ventured into a department store to replace a frayed suit for work. But there was none of the rush, the excitement of the perfect find. Whereas once, on impulse, she had spent nearly US$1,000 on a single pair of stiletto boots, she bought this suit mostly because it was practical, inexpensive and necessary.
And they’re reconsidering some decisions that they’ve made. In a fit of what may have been over-enthusiasm, they gave away all their fans, even though they use comparably little energy.
They’ve started taking elevators again, but they say they miss the exercise they got on the stairs.
And Conlin finds herself missing the worm composting bin (in its stead, they donate their organic waste to farmers at the market).
She had been disgusted by the worms, even imagining them staging a breakout and getting into the family food. But Isabella was fascinated by them. And the worms had given Bella a glimpse of the natural cycle of things — a rare gift for a city girl.
But other gifts remain. At their community garden plot, where they’ve been growing giant zucchini each the size of a human forearm, Bella helps them plant, and wanders through the greenery, eating tomatoes as if they were apples.
There’s no longer one nameless “man” delivering their food on a bicycle. Now they themselves are on wheels, breeze in their faces, exploring the city. On their frequent excursions to the park, Isabella often asks to talk to a stranger. Usually, her parents say “yes.”
Often, Isabella and Beavan head out the door, no destination in mind.
And in a ritual that began during the year that taught them so much, he turns to her and says: “Let’s go see what happens.”
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