I miss my commute
I miss my 3 hour daily commute.
Insane, you say?
Well, I don’t miss driving like a NYC cab driver to get to my day care center before 6:30 p.m., when a strict $1 per minute late fee kicked in.
I don’t miss seeing the day care center empty except for my child, one teacher and one light in an otherwise dark building.
I don’t miss apologizing profusely.
And I don’t miss my never-the-same ETA, which depending on traffic/weather/construction, could make my city-to-suburbia commute as short as 35 minutes or as long as 2 hours each way.
But here’s what I do miss: transition time. A block of time to just be alone in my car. To catch up with my personal phone calls. To listen to whatever I want to on the radio, or to keep it turned off. Silence is underrated, you know.
In hindsight, I’d say my commuting time was therapeutic for me. In my crazybusy working mom life, it provided me a few moments of zen. A few moments to just breath and think and space out. Sometimes I cried. Sometimes I sang loudly and joyfully. Sometimes I gossiped on the phone with my friends.
And that time is now gone.
The main reason we moved from the city to suburbia was to improve my terrible commute. And yes, it IS nice to leave for work at 8:50 a.m. and arrive in time for a 9 a.m. meeting. Mornings now allow for goof-off-with-the-kids time, or time to make breakfast, pack a lunch, or hop on the treadmill.
I am never late at day care anymore.
It’s been a wicked winter in Chicago, and in the worst of our numerous snowstorms, it took me 15 minutes to get home from work. Fifteen minutes. If we still lived in the city, it would have taken 2+ hours. Then you know what this blog entry would be about? Complaints about long commutes and vows to move to suburbia.
The grass is always greener, isn’t it?
I miss my commute