If my commute were a person, we’d be in a common law marriage.
We’ve driven together for nine years, about 120,000 miles and countless hours. But now our marriage of inconvenience is coming to an end. It wasn’t my idea (the organization where I worked went out of business) but I fully support this decision. I’ve sacrificed a lot of my life for this relationship — up to three hours a day, five days a week to be exact. And I’m not sure what I’ve gotten in return except continual testing of my patience, sciatica and a dirty car littered with crumbs from my moveable feast.
I don’t want sound bitter. It wasn’t all bad. Commuting 60 miles round trip every day from Long Beach to the mid-Wilshire area of Los Angeles may sound insane, but I adjusted. It was almost like having an out of body experience. I zoned…
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