It dawned on me rather slowly, but I have become one of those people who love the commute to the office.
Initially I ignored the semi-delight I felt when I clicked the front gate closed behind me, assuming for months it was the sheer thrill of being allowed back to the office, coupled with the relief that we were out of lockdown.
But a year on, the feeling is still here and I’m beginning to understand it’s more than just the euphoria of having my freedom back.
I know that for many a commute can be arduous, jarringly stressful, expensive. In Australia it seems accepted that it is just another price we pay to live where we live. We talk much about the issues of affordable suburbs and the fact those areas have fast become synonymous with the penance of an excruciating commute.
And for some, this is a harsh reality. I used to view my own commute with the sombreness and darkness found in the famous John Brack painting, Collins St, 5pm. Frustrating, dull, repetitive and cold.
So I don’t know if I’ve become older and wiser or have just reframed that 45 minutes of my day where I have learnt to love being MIA.
I’ve worked out the commute works in my favour. It’s a time when I’m in no man’s land – neither here, nor there – a bit like I’m crossing a threshold and have an isolated period to delineate home life from work.
My excursion to work is usually the only time I am alone all day – I’m not actively mothering and I’m not actively working. My mind can wander, my eyes can be caught by random vignettes or splices of beauty or even something that is absolutely nothing.
Whether I’m in the car or on the tram, I’ve come to relish the decompression that takes place during the journey.
And even if there’s heavy traffic or delayed trains and trams, I am mostly unphased. I’m more accepting and often greedily welcome the extra time in transit.
And nor does it bother me that everyone else around me is staring at their phone. Let them. It gives me more levity and space to look up and out and beyond.