Starting a few weeks ago I’ve been commuting from Boulder to Denver for work. It’s pretty. When I leave home I can see the mountains–they’re snow covered right now. First I get on Foothills which is a six lane Boulder thoroughfare. Then I merge onto 36. When I first started commuting I loved getting on 36. I mean look at these mountains! Look at this huge road! And all the cars on it! Look at all these other people doing the same thing I’m doing! I felt small, but in a good way.
Most of my life I’ve had non-traditional commutes. Weird hours. Often by bike. It can be quiet out there at 6am and 10pm and Sunday mornings. And lonely. Because it doesn’t feel like anyone is doing what you’re doing. And so it can feel nice sometimes, to feel like a part of something. Like taking 35 to downtown Kansas City on a Monday. Like the morning subway to Manhattan. It feels good to get all squished up with everyone on the L train. It feels good to see the city skyline from your car window. It feels good to participate.
Sadly, those feelings wear off.
Anne Foster 