What If You Could Do It All Over? - The New Yorker

Posted: 14 Dec 2020 03:00 AM PST

A whole art form—the novel—has been dedicated to exploring this dynamic. Novelists often show us people who, trapped by circumstances, struggle to live their "real" lives. Such a struggle can be Escher-like; a "real" life is one in which a person no longer yearns to find herself, and yet the work of finding oneself is itself a source of meaning. In Tolstoy's "Anna Karenina," Anna, caught in a boring marriage, destroys her life in an attempt to build a more passionate, authentic one with Count Vronsky. All the while, Levin, the novel's other hero, is so confused about how to live that he longs for the kind of boring, automatic life that Anna left behind. Part of the work of being a modern person seems to be dreaming of alternate lives in which you don't have to dream of alternate lives. We long to stop longing, but we also wring purpose from that desire.

An "unled" life sounds like one we might wish to lead—shoulda, coulda, woulda. But, while I'm conscious of my unlived lives, I don't wish to have led one. In fact, as the father of a two-year-old, I find the prospect frightening. In "Midlife: A Philosophical Guide," the philosopher Kieran Setiya points out that, thanks to the "butterfly effect," even minor alterations to our pasts would likely have major effects on our presents. If I'd done things just a little bit differently, my son might not exist. Perhaps, in a different life, I'd have a different wife and child. But I love these particular people; I don't want alternative ones.

"Excuse me, sir. I think you have your cart in front of the horse!"

Cartoon by George Booth

I find it easier to imagine different lives for others. My mother grew up in Malaysia, then immigrated to America in the nineteen-seventies, as a college student. In her new country, she went to rock concerts, poetry readings, and law school, becoming an attorney with a distinguished career and achieving the kind of life she'd imagined back home. Even so, she was never really happy; she and my father divorced, and she struggled with depression and loneliness. When I was a teen-ager, we visited Malaysia together. I was astonished to find that the island where she'd spent her childhood was a tropical paradise. Her many cousins and old friends were overjoyed to see her; eating the food, her face lit up. We spent a day with a high-school boyfriend of hers, who ran a small factory (it made refrigerator magnets, as I recall); globalization was transforming the country and raising the standard of living. Would my mother have found contentment if she'd forgone the immigrant struggle? Thinking that she might have, I didn't worry that, if she'd lived this alternate life, I wouldn't exist.

My mother was young when she moved across the world; once we're rooted in adulthood, even much smaller shifts can seem inconceivable. My lawyer friend, who has a wife and two children, hates his job and is always talking about leaving it so that he can pursue an entirely different profession, but he simply can't figure out how to make the switch. I feel for him. Having clambered up his ladder, he won't easily get down. But I also want to tell him what Jean-Paul Sartre said about the allure of imaginary lives:

A man commits himself and draws his own portrait, outside of which there is nothing. No doubt this thought may seem harsh. . . . But on the other hand, it helps people to understand that reality alone counts, and that dreams, expectations, and hopes only serve to define a man as a broken dream, aborted hopes, and futile expectations.

Sartre thought we should focus on what we have done and will do, rather than on what we might have done or could do. He pointed out that we often take too narrow a census of our actions. An artist, he maintains, is not to be "judged solely by his works of art, for a thousand other things also help to define him." We do more than we give ourselves credit for; our real lives are richer than we think. This is why, if you keep a diary, you may feel more satisfied with the life you live.

And yet you may still wonder at the particular shape of that life; all stories have turning points, and it's hard not to fixate on them. Sartre advanced those ideas in a lecture called "Existentialism Is a Humanism," which he delivered in Paris in 1945, when he was only locally famous. On arriving at the venue, he discovered that he would have to push through a brawling crowd that had gathered in a sort of mini-riot. ("Probably some communists demonstrating against me," he speculated, according to Annie Cohen-Solal's "Sartre: A Life.") He considered leaving the event but then decided to press on, spending fifteen minutes making his way to the front, receiving a few kicks and blows along the way. The lecture was a sensation and made Sartre an international superstar. That might not have happened if he'd decided, reasonably, to leave.

Like facets in a jewel, such moments seem to put our lives into prismatic relief. They make us feel the precariousness and the specificity of the way things are. In "The Post-Birthday World," Lionel Shriver builds a whole novel around this conceit: its chapters alternate between two time lines, one in which Irina, its protagonist, didn't kiss her husband's friend, and another in which she did. (In the first time line, she often thinks back on the moment of the almost-kiss—an instant when her happy life hung in the balance.) The same essential premise animates countless popular narratives, from rom-coms like "Sliding Doors" to sci-fi series like "Devs." And yet the premise is irrational: in truth, our lives have infinite facets, and, for any given outcome, the turning points we isolate are necessary but not sufficient. The butterfly effect works in reverse: Sartre had to give his lecture, and my wife had to step into my elevator not just once but twice, and yet many other, unremembered things also had to happen—in fact, everything had to go a certain way.

Often, these stories serve a didactic purpose; they provoke thoughts that bind us to our lives. They suggest that we should be grateful for what's actual—that we should sink deeper into the life we have, rather than dreaming of the lives we don't. But my mother, being unhappy, and restless by nature, thought often of her unled lives. Sometimes she seemed lost in them, or misled by them. She dreamed, in particular, of quitting her job and running a farm stand. And so, the summer after I graduated from college, she moved out of the D.C. suburbs and into a remote little house in the Virginia countryside, two hours away, near the Blue Ridge.

It was a second emigration. Her commute was punishing; unsettled and lonely, she grew isolated and drank too much. A few years later, she had a profoundly disabling stroke. Little of the person she was remains. Today, she lives in a nursing home, where, strangely, she seems content. Not long after the stroke, I made one last visit to her house, to clear it out before it sold. I took a photo of her vegetable garden, gone to seed—the closest she ever came to living the life she'd pictured.

What we could have, should have, or would have done—these kinds of thoughts follow an if-then logic. But we're also drawn to alternative selves that hover on the edge of sense. Miller recounts how, when the musician Melissa Etheridge and her partner decided to have children, they faced a decision: for their sperm donor, they considered one of two friends, David Crosby or Brad Pitt. They chose Crosby. "My teen-agers now are, like, 'I could have had Brad Pitt,' " Etheridge later said. " 'I could've been amazingly handsome.' " Miller shares a joke recorded by the philosopher Ted Cohen, about a man named Lev: "If I were the Czar, I would be richer than the Czar," Lev tells a friend. "How could that be?" the friend asks. "Well," Lev says, "if I were the Czar, on the side I would give Hebrew lessons." If I'm the Czar, or Brad Pitt's son, am I still me? The idea that I, myself, could also be someone else seems to exploit a loophole in language. The words make a sentence without making sense. And yet the senselessness of the wish to be someone else may be part of the wish. We want the world to be more porous and lambent than it is.

Miller quotes the poem "Veracruz," by George Stanley, in full. It opens by the sea in Mexico, where Stanley is walking on an esplanade. He thinks of how his father once walked on a similar esplanade in Cuba. Step by step, he imagines alternative lives for his father and for himself. What if his dad had moved to San Francisco and "married / not my mother, but her brother, whom he truly loved"? What if his father had transformed himself into a woman, and Stanley had been the child of his father and his uncle? Maybe he would have been born female, and "grown up in San Francisco as a girl, / a tall, serious girl." If all that had happened, then today, walking by the sea in Mexico, he might be able to meet a sailor, have an affair, and "give birth at last to my son—the boy / I love."

"Veracruz" reminds me of the people I know who believe in past lives, and of stories like the one David Lynch tells in "Twin Peaks," in which people seem to step between alternate lives without knowing it. Such stories satisfy us deeply because they reconcile contrary ideas we have about ourselves and our souls. On the one hand, we understand that we could have turned out any number of ways; we know that we aren't the only possible versions of ourselves. But, on the other, we feel that there is some fundamental light within us—a filament that burns, with its own special character, from birth to death. We want to think that, whoever we might have been, we would have burned with the same light. At the end of "Veracruz," the poet comes home to the same son. It's as though my mother became a different kind of person, finding happiness in her garden while she could; and I, having moved to San Francisco, became a coder with a business plan and a head full of algorithms; and still, when our eyes met over Skype, we were us.

This vision seems impossible. As Sartre says, we are who we are. But isn't the negative space in a portrait part of that portrait? In the sense that our unled lives have been imagined by us, and are part of us, they are real; to know what someone isn't—what she might have been, what she's dreamed of being—this is to know someone intimately. When we first meet people, we know them as they are, but, with time, we perceive the auras of possibility that surround them. Miller describes the emotion this experience evokes as "beauty and heartbreak together."

The novel I think of whenever I have this feeling is Virginia Woolf's "To the Lighthouse." Mrs. Ramsay, its central character, is the mother of eight children; the linchpin of her family, she is immersed in the practicalities of her crowded, communal life. Still, even as she attends to the particulars—the morning's excursion, the evening's dinner—she senses that they are only placeholders, or handles with which she can grasp something bigger. The details of life seem to her both worthy of attention and somehow arbitrary; the meaning of the whole feels tied up in its elusiveness. One night, she is sitting at dinner, surrounded by her children and her guests. She listens to her husband talking about poetry and philosophy; she watches her children whisper some private joke. (She can't know that two of them will die: a daughter in childbirth, a son in the First World War.) Then she softens her focus. "She looked at the window in which the candle flames burnt brighter now that the panes were black," Woolf writes, "and looking at that outside the voices came to her very strangely, as if they were voices at a service in a cathedral." In this inner quiet, lines of poetry sound:

And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be
Are full of trees and changing leaves.

Mrs. Ramsay isn't quite sure what these lines mean, and doesn't know if she invented them, has just heard them, or is remembering them. Still, Woolf writes, "like music, the words seemed to be spoken by her own voice, outside her self, saying quite easily and naturally what had been in her mind the whole evening while she said different things." We all dwell in the here and now; we all have actual selves, actual lives. But what are they? Selves and lives have penumbras and possibilities—that's what's unique about them. They are always changing, and so are always new; they refuse to stand still. We live in anticipation of their meaning, which will inevitably exceed what can be known or said. Much must be left unsaid, unseen, unlived. ♦

Calculator: Estimate Car Insurance - NerdWallet

Posted: 23 Nov 2020 01:10 PM PST

Use a car insurance estimator before buying

Even the savviest car shoppers can forget to estimate car insurance costs before buying.

The type of car you drive is just one variable car insurance companies plug into their formulas to determine how much to charge you. Depending on the vehicle and insurance company, the cost of car insurance can vary by hundreds of dollars a year for the same driver.

That's why it pays to get some initial car insurance quotes for models you're thinking about buying. Along with gas mileage and maintenance costs, car insurance costs should be included when calculating the total cost of owning a car.

The national average car insurance rate is $1,427 per year for "full coverage," according to NerdWallet's 2020 rate analysis, but your rates will differ based on the car you buy, among other factors. Full coverage car insurance isn't a specific type of policy. Rather, it refers to a combination of coverages. For our rate analysis, full coverage includes liability, comprehensive, collision, uninsured/underinsured motorist protection and any additional state-mandated coverage.

Why some cars cost more (or less) to insure than others

Certain cars cost more to insure than others because carriers use crash and theft statistics to help set rates for each model separately. So if the car you choose tends to be stolen or crashed more, chances are you'll pay more for insurance. The reason sports cars cost more to cover, for example, is because they're more likely to be driven fast and crashed hard by their owners.

Here are some specific characteristics that affect the cost of auto insurance:

Retail price. Generally, the pricier the car, the more expensive it will be to insure. Assuming you buy comprehensive and collision coverage, the insurance company will be on the hook to pay out the car's market value if the vehicle is stolen or wrecked beyond repair.
Cost of parts. High-end models often use parts made from carbon fiber and other specialized materials that are expensive to repair, which drives up the cost of damage claims.
Safety. Over time, cars that do a good job of protecting drivers and their passengers bring down insurance costs. Fewer injuries mean fewer claims for medical payments and personal injury protection.

How to get car insurance estimates

In your search for a car, follow these steps for estimating the cost of car insurance:

Decide how much coverage you need. If you're buying a new car, include collision and comprehensive, which cover damage or loss of the vehicle. If you get a car loan for a used car, you'll need this coverage because the lender will require it.
Get quotes for the same amount of coverage for the vehicles you're thinking about buying. NerdWallet's car insurance comparison tool can help you get started.

Now you can factor in the cost of car insurance to help you make a final choice.

Other factors that can affect your car insurance quote

Your car make and model aren't the only factors that go into an auto insurance quote. Other factors that affect your quote include:

Personal characteristics like age, gender and marital status. For example, teen drivers have higher car insurance quotes on average than any other age group.
The coverage you choose. The more coverage you have, the higher your insurance rates are likely to be.
Your driving record. A recent DUI, speeding ticket or at-fault accident can raise your rates.
Your location. Every state has different car insurance minimums, and factors like your neighborhood's crime rate and population density will affect your insurance price.
Your credit score. Drivers with poor credit typically have higher car insurance rates. Insurers use a credit-based insurance score, which is different from your regular credit score, to determine the likelihood you'll file a claim. A credit-based insurance score looks at factors such as payment history and outstanding debt but can't use any personal information like your income or occupation to determine your score. California, Hawaii and Massachusetts have banned insurers from using credit scores when calculating car insurance rates.
Your car insurance history. This can include whether your car insurance has lapsed, insurance claims, how long you've been with your insurer and your last insurance company.

How much car insurance do you need?

Most states require a minimum amount of car insurance, but you'll likely want to have more than minimum coverage. Some drivers opt to get full coverage to help protect themselves against any type of accident. Remember, full coverage isn't a type of policy, but generally a combination of required and optional coverages. But full coverage doesn't include everything. Extras like roadside assistance and gap coverage may have to be added separately.

Full coverage car insurance may include:

Coverage type	What it pays for
Bodily injury liability	Medical costs due to injuries or deaths from an accident you caused.
Property damage liability	Repair costs for property you damaged in an accident.
Uninsured motorist bodily injury liability	Medical costs after an accident with an uninsured driver.
Uninsured motorist property damage coverage	Repair costs after an accident with an uninsured driver.
Collision coverage	Repair expenses from traffic-related accidents, regardless of who is at fault.
Comprehensive coverage	Repair costs from events outside your control — including weather events, hitting an animal while driving, theft and vandalism.

How can I save on car insurance?

The best way to find the cheapest car insurance rates is by shopping around. Check car insurance quotes and look for a company with a good reputation for customer service.

When you shop for car insurance, remember to compare quotes for the same levels of coverage. A company that offers a particular discount might still be more expensive than an insurer that offers low-cost coverage overall.

Although the cost of insurance may not make or break your final car decision, it's important to know how much you'll pay for coverage before you make an offer on a vehicle.

Frequently asked questions

How can I get cheap car insurance?

The best way to find cheap car insurance is by shopping around for car insurance quotes. Look for a company with a good reputation for customer service.

When you shop, remember to compare quotes for the same levels of coverage and look closely at discounts. A company that offers a particular discount might still be more expensive than an insurer with generally low-cost coverage, but you have to get quotes to know.

How much should I be paying for auto insurance?

The national average car insurance rate is $1,427 per year for good drivers with good credit, according to NerdWallet's 2020 rate analysis. However, an exact price is hard to estimate without knowing specifics about you, such as your driving record and where you live.

What is the cheapest car insurance company?

NerdWallet's 2020 auto insurance analysis of the best cheap car insurance companies found that among the largest insurers, Geico had the cheapest car insurance quotes with an average of $1,198 a year. State Farm and Progressive offered the next-cheapest auto insurance rates, respectively.

While USAA had the cheapest auto insurance rates overall, it was not ranked because the company offers insurance only to active military members, veterans and their families.

How can I find the cheapest car insurance for me?

To find the cheapest auto insurance company you can, compare car insurance rates from at least three providers. Because rates depend on several factors including your driving record, age and gender, rates vary widely among companies.

Location can also make a big difference. To get a good benchmark for price comparisons, check out average rates in your state along with the car insurance cost calculator.

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