I watched a driver circle the Moraga Shopping Center parking lot four times last Tuesday. Four times. I know because I was sitting on the bench outside Safeway, drinking coffee and contemplating my life choices. By my calculation, she spent roughly eight minutes searching for a spot that would save her roughly 45 seconds of walking.
This is not a critique. This is anthropology.
The Lafayette Paradox
Downtown Lafayette presents a fascinating case study. Here we have a charming, walkable downtown core surrounded by abundant side-street parking, all within a pleasant three-minute stroll of anywhere you’d want to go. And yet, on any given Saturday, you’ll find a line of cars idling on Mt. Diablo Boulevard, waiting for someone to vacate a prime spot directly in front of their destination.
We are a community of people who own hiking boots and use them. We walk trails. We do the Lafayette Reservoir loop for fun. But somehow, the idea of parking one block away from brunch feels like a bridge too far.
The Trader Joe’s Situation
Let’s talk about the elephant in the room: Moraga’s Trader Joe’s. The parking lot that taught an entire generation of teenagers that driving is actually terrifying.
If you’ve successfully navigated that lot during peak hours, you can park anywhere. You have been forged in fire. You have earned your “I Survived Rheem Shopping Center” bumper sticker.
A Modest Proposal
What if we just… embraced it? What if we started treating the hunt for parking as the meditative practice it clearly wants to be? Circle the lot. Breathe. Let the Tesla cut you off. Find your center.
Or park in the back and walk. The weather’s usually gorgeous. Your legs work. The extra steps will offset exactly one-third of that cookie you’re about to buy.
Either way, I’ll be on my bench. Watching. Judging lovingly.