By the fall of 2022, I had worked for a decade at a school that was a 50-minute drive from my house. Each morning, I’d pour my coffee into my travel mug with a dash of maple syrup (I’m a good Vermonter). I’d climb into my car, and fire it up. Depending on the time of year, I might scrape snow, cursing my cold fingers and wet gloves, or use the wipers to brush the autumn leaves or late-spring pollen from my windshield. Then I’d head out, and meander through the mountains. Sometimes I’d have to avoid wild turkey, or shield my eyes from the sunrise, until eventually my car crested the hill upon which my school sat.
The drive was lovely, and I made good use of it with music, books, and podcasts. I remember I used to compare commutes with my brother-in-law, who drove 50 minutes in Boston and only made five miles of progress in stop-and-go traffic. My commute was superior by all accounts.
But…it also took up nine hours of my life every week from September through June. And after a decade, I was tired of it.
What killed me the most was that some days, I had to leave before I could get my 10 year old on the bus. An early meeting before school would mean I’d set out long before the big yellow behemoth would squeakily brake to a stop before our house. My kid, an amazing and responsible human who could manage her time pretty well, all things considered, carried a burden of getting herself outside on time. She was capable, but I hated it.
When I decided that fall that I’d leave my job at the end of the year in search of something better, I didn’t know yet what “better” was. But my job coach asked me to do a visioning exercise, where I imagined, in detail, what my new life would look like when I’d reached my goal.
I didn’t know a lot. But I wrote with certainty that I wanted to be able to put my kid on the bus, to slow down my mornings and enjoy the little slice of time before the day really started.
This past year, as I puzzle-pieced my way through my career transition into self-employment, I walked my hilarious, sassy, cranky-in-the-morning preteen to the end of the driveway every morning she was with me, where we hung out waiting for her chariot. Some mornings we talked. Some mornings we fought (the pre-teen years are…real). Some mornings she set up her backpack as a “horse jump” and asked me to judge her equestrian skills. Some mornings we danced as I prepared her to come to contra dancing with me now that she was old enough.
It wasn’t a big thing, in the grand scheme of the world. But really, isn’t life about the little moments?
Those five minutes each morning were a major driver in my decision to revamp my professional life. And now, post transition, my mornings go a little slower. I sleep longer. I sit down and have breakfast with my sidekick. Sometimes I journal. I no longer rush out the door at the crack of dawn to drive an hour for an early meeting. I knew that the prioritizing this space in my morning would give me peace and headspace to live a life with more ease. I also knew that taking advantage of those moments with my kiddo were worthwhile. By the end of this past year, she decided to start walking to school, and I know more changes like that will happen, and she’ll be with me less and less. And that’s ok - but I’ll take the time while I can get it.
And the “isn’t life funny” cherry on top of this whole thing? A couple weeks ago, I referenced my neighbor setting me up on a blind date with her friend who had “seen me in the neighborhood.” Turns out, his kid gets on the bus just up the street from mine, and he saw us at the bus stop each morning. And that’s what made him ask her about me.
Life’s funny, isn’t it?
What are the little things that you prioritize? How have they added to your quality of life?