I am in no way a morning person. Now that I’m working a 9-5 work day, I have trouble adhering to the repetition of a sleep routine, as I’m used to the college style binge and purge type rest. The 20 minutes I allow myself to get ready and out the door in the morning is not nearly enough time to become fully awake, and I go into my commute more than half asleep.
At first the idea of a commute was unappealing. I was annoyed with the fact that the 30 minutes on the train could be instead spent under the covers. I didn’t want to sacrifice the precious extra minutes on taking the metro, however calling an Uber every morning would be a tad excessive. However, once I started taking the metro every day, I realized just how wrong I was about commuting; it was actually just what I needed to start my day. More than I would like to admit, I need planes, trains, and cars to act as my sort of calm before the storm.
From kindergarten to high school I played club soccer. It was always at a highly competitive level, and I even considered playing in college for some time. Despite my talent for the game, I hated it. Although a starter, I cherished my precious moments on the bench, and savored cancelled games or practices. Since my team practiced nearly an hour away from home, there was always the lucky chance of traffic, and the spare minutes I recovered in being late to practice were more than appreciated. My anxiety stemming from the pressure the game demanded forced me to cope by finding peace in the drives to all of the practices, tournaments, and workout sessions.
In deciding to go to a school across the country, I also was stuck with the plane rides that come with it. Although of course the distance makes moving and holidays a hassle, I have learned to love these plane rides. I know all too well that every time I leave home there are moving boxes to unpack, groceries to buy, classes to wake up for, and a roommate to cohabit with, all waiting for me after touching down. But, despite these factors, when on the plane, I’m isolated 36,000 feet above these stressors, unable to control or do anything about them.
Similar to these plane rides, my current morning train commute is the ultimate escape. At the moment, I’m working four jobs. Yes, four. They are all part time, and in each of them I feel lost, confused, and stressed that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. Even though it’s a learning experience, and I’m excited about having so many opportunities at once, I always feel like I’m drowning. My metro rides, however, are spent in blissful ignorance of these worries.
The relief of having the freedom to read, listen to music, or just simply be without the pressure of having the ability or expectation of making use of your “free time” is a necessary sentiment I underestimate. As hard as modern technology attempts to intervene in it, I feel detached from my world and liberated in my acceptance of knowing there is nothing I can do for the time being. These guilt free, undisturbed moments suspended from reality act as my own version of meditation, something I never fully understood until now.
From years spent under the great pressure of living life, I have learned to block out anxiety and fear of things I can’t control. I now embrace this release of conscious worry and understand just how much my mental wellbeing depends on this practice of letting go, if only for the small period of my day spent in route.
