Driving through traffic isn’t fun, as anyone who has a long commute can attest to. It’s never interesting having to stop and go, stop and go all over the highway, back and forth, as if you’re eventually getting motion sick. You just do it until you lose all sanity, and even then you still have another couple miles to go before you can get off, so you grin and bear it. You accept the fate that’s been given to you, and you move on with your life regardless.
Driving through traffic makes my mornings exceptionally boring, but the parts of my commute where I just drive normally, where I can flicker through music and podcast options and listen to whatever I feel like, those are the best ones. Friday mornings are nice because there’s usually no traffic to be found, and then the inverse takes place during the afternoon, when Friday betrays me and I have to just wait and wait until I get home. I wish it were easier to deal with this commute, but unfortunately it’s a part of my current exile. It’s a natural state of things.
Being the kind of person who despises traffic doesn’t necessarily mean that I hate driving to work every day. Sometimes it’s nice having peace and quiet to myself, to my own thoughts and head space, for the time that that’s available to me. It might not be long, but it’s there nonetheless.
If I had to choose between driving an hour to work and driving ten minutes, though, I would obviously choose the ten minutes. I’d much prefer having a commute that allows me to sleep in a bit more and stay up a bit later. I’d also prefer having a commute where I’m allowed to get home at a reasonable time. But you can’t always get what you want.