The Commute

I may be one of the few people out there who doesn't mind my Westside to DTLA commute. Granted, anything over an hour will turn me into a crazy person, but there's something relaxing about the 45 minute drive I make to and from work. It's a time I use to brainstorm new ideas, listen to music (I generally avoid the radio, which makes me somewhat pop-culture illiterate...but I'm working on it.) and yes, occasionally wallow in a steady rotation of twenty-something crises (career, creativity, cheap dates...you get the idea). Or door number four: completely disconnect and do nothing but pay attention to the road ahead. Literally—and maybe even figuratively. I try to think it's not time wasted...although if I was proactive I would have probably learned 3 new languages on Rosetta Stone by now.

The notion of wasted time has been on my mind a lot lately. And a daily commute is really only a tangible representation of it. But as of late, I've been making a concerted effort—which entails constantly reminding myself that it's OKAY—to alter my perception of what often feels like treading water. Because maybe it's not "treading water" if I'm learning along the way.

Side note: Last week, I took a detour through Downtown to meet a friend for drinks and was caught in the worst traffic ever. After I hadn't moved in 3 green lights, I decided to pull out my camera and take a moment to appreciate the city moving around me. Call it a perfect coincidence, but there's something kind of poetic (and ironic) about the movement on the street contrasted by the rows of people stuck in their cars, probably on their evening commutes—not moving. Or worse...wasting time.

P.S. I wrote this post here. It's my attempt at making LA more European. Jury's still out on whether the dramatic cultural shift will actually happen or if I'm just a girl blogging in a bar.