Chapter 1: The Commute Experience

Imagine this scenario: A man strikes you with a stick. Who should be held accountable? The man wielding the stick? The stick itself? Or perhaps yourself for not moving away? This narrative encapsulates my experience of facing challenges during my daily commute.

The biting wind howls around me, penetrating every layer of clothing I've bundled myself in. As I arrive at the train station, I stand on the cold, exposed platform, waiting for my train.

Eventually, it arrives, running late and packed with commuters, the windows fogged up as we jolt and rattle our way into the heart of the city. A frantic rush ensues as the doors slide open, pushing us into an even larger mass of people, like disoriented ants scurrying down stairs to the London Tube below, each step a silent wish for stability—hoping no one trips or falls.

The cacophony is deafening, and the stale air adds to the overwhelming atmosphere of this moving coffin. The screeching of the arriving Tube blends with the mechanical whirring of a society that feels trapped; this is what it means to be alive.

As we speed through the dark tunnels, surrounded by a sea of bodies, the scents of sweat and coughs envelop us. Finally, we emerge into the gray light outside. I quicken my pace towards the looming office building that will be my daytime sanctuary.

Welcome to the grind, where the salary offers little solace.

In a previous reflection, I shared insights about my current commutes in private vehicles. However, the narrative above recalls a past chapter of my life—one that lingers in memory.

Ironically, those public commutes inspired me to seek positivity during those journeys more than my current, more comfortable travels. I desperately needed a way to escape the drudgery while enduring it.

It wasn’t a suitable time for lectures, studying, or personal growth due to my inability to focus consistently. Yet, it turned out to be an ideal opportunity for meditation. I learned to breathe deeply and allow thoughts or emotions to surface and then recede, like droplets merging back into the ocean of my mind.

After some time, I recognized it as a chance to reflect on my existing knowledge or challenge my understanding. I purchased a book filled with thought-provoking questions and each morning, I would tackle a new one, such as:

• Will the world be a better or worse place a century from now?
• In our culture, which gender has it easier? Have you ever desired to be the opposite sex?
• Imagine having the power to cause someone's death merely by thinking of it and saying "good-bye" twice. Would you ever use such power, and if so, under what circumstances?

These questions came from Gregory Stock's "Book of Questions." I even began blogging about my reflections and the internal conflicts that arose from trying to answer them, which led to engaging discussions with my readers. I only paused my blog when my life circumstances shifted, and that dismal commute was no longer part of my routine.

The Hell of Heading Home—Yet the Journey Transformed into Personal Growth

However, invariably, by the time I started my journey home, any remnants of positivity had been consumed by the city's smog. I often felt apathetic and indifferent. I didn’t want to engage with thoughts of self-improvement; I merely wished to be anywhere else.

Then, during one particular ride home, I began to jot down what needed to be accomplished the next day. This simple act shifted my focus; I was mentally transported to tomorrow, away from the present discomfort.

The idea blossomed. I noticed a poster on a lamppost advertising a Jazz Night at a pub I passed each day. Though it was after work hours, I pondered if I could do something enjoyable before heading home—perhaps it would help me avoid the chaos of the commute!

Before long, I scheduled weekly outings, even if they were just a simple photo walk or exploring a Tube station I hadn’t visited before (I stumbled upon an amazing Caribbean goat curry, a thrift shop brimming with designer finds, charming parks, and quaint bookstores).

I never developed a fondness for that commute. In fact, as my opening remarks suggest, I still recall it with disdain. Yet, some of the lessons I learned during that time have remained with me and guided me well.

What once was a desperate need to escape has transformed into a genuine desire to uncover adventure and wonder in everyday life. Nowadays, whenever I spot something intriguing, I pull over to explore, and if time is short, I make a mental note to return later.

It’s been a considerable stretch since I’ve had a day without a mini-adventure. Even during the recent lockdowns in Spain, which imposed stringent restrictions, I found ways to seek out adventure. Armed only with my smartphone, I began photographing the minute details of my surroundings—capturing the intricate designs of spider eyes, observing ants on their foraging missions, and documenting unfamiliar insects to share on iNaturalist, where a community of enthusiasts helped me learn more.

I hope to never relive that commute, yet I remain grateful for the lessons it imparted.

A man strikes you with a stick. Who should bear the blame? The man? The stick? Or yourself for standing there?

Authors own images © Cat Milton (All Rights reserved)

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