The day I commenced my career as a Media Planner was the very same day I began my life as a city commuter.
The local subway carried me 21 stops - all the way from 157th street, downtown to the West Village. Crowds of people flooded on and off the train at each station. I watched this unfold around me with a sense of great awe.
My train stopped in Times Square and Penn Station. I could hardly believe it! Here I was, on my way to the office, riding the train alongside tourists who were visiting the city. The contrast stunned me. This city life - the crowds, subways, noise, commotion - this was now my normal life.
Although I lived 8 miles from work, my commute took an hour. As a suburban girl used to cars and convenience, I was spoiled by everything being literally 10-15min away. Spending an hour to get anywhere on a daily basis was unfathomable. Yet here I was. Doing the unfathomable.
My new roommate sold me on the idea that the train was only a few blocks away. She exclaimed, “You won’t have to transfer; it goes directly to your office!” She was right, in a way. It was certainly simple and easy, but “convenience” is open to interpretation.
Subway rides were “lost” time. I couldn't do anything besides observe the crowds around me with anxious wide eyes. I was too tired and distracted to read, to nervous to nap.
Back then, we didn’t have cell service in the subways. I couldn’t text or call anyone. I used to chat with friends on my car Bluetooth during transit - that was no longer an option. Even if it was, I was too self-conscious to have a private conversation in public, too embarrassed to talk loudly and possibly disrupt those around me.
Never mind that you could purchase anything you needed at any nearby convenience store. My suburban-raised mind didn't fully grasp that yet. I would eventually learn.
I was afraid to touch the subway poles with my bare hands, grossed out by the idea of putting my bags on the floor. If I was lucky enough to grab a seat, those same bags would eventually be piled on my lap. About all I could do was balance my multiple bags on my shoulders, strategically positioning my body to take up as little space as possible. I simply held on for dear life as the lurching train constantly threatened to knock me over.
Personal space no longer existed. More often than not, one would find themselves packed on the train in precarious awkward positions, perhaps with your nose in another passages armpit, a stray arm right in front of your face, or a large purse bumping you from the side.
Such a calm, relaxing way to begin the day, right?
No wonder I often procrastinated going back home. I couldn’t bear the thought of dealing with my commute, so I pushed it off as long as possible. Sometimes staying at work long after-hours and expensing a car home (even when I didn't need it). Sometimes wandering aimlessly around the West Village for hours. Often finding events and happy hours. Anything to avoid the trek back home for a few more hours.
The local subway carried me 21 stops - all the way from 157th street, downtown to the West Village. Crowds of people flooded on and off the train at each station. I watched this unfold around me with a sense of great awe.
My train stopped in Times Square and Penn Station. I could hardly believe it! Here I was, on my way to the office, riding the train alongside tourists who were visiting the city. The contrast stunned me. This city life - the crowds, subways, noise, commotion - this was now my normal life.
I was LIVING in the city. Not just visiting - I actually lived here. Every day felt special and magical.
Although I lived 8 miles from work, my commute took an hour. As a suburban girl used to cars and convenience, I was spoiled by everything being literally 10-15min away. Spending an hour to get anywhere on a daily basis was unfathomable. Yet here I was. Doing the unfathomable.
My new roommate sold me on the idea that the train was only a few blocks away. She exclaimed, “You won’t have to transfer; it goes directly to your office!” She was right, in a way. It was certainly simple and easy, but “convenience” is open to interpretation.
Subway rides were “lost” time. I couldn't do anything besides observe the crowds around me with anxious wide eyes. I was too tired and distracted to read, to nervous to nap.
Back then, we didn’t have cell service in the subways. I couldn’t text or call anyone. I used to chat with friends on my car Bluetooth during transit - that was no longer an option. Even if it was, I was too self-conscious to have a private conversation in public, too embarrassed to talk loudly and possibly disrupt those around me.
One day, the headline on the free Metro paper enticed me to grab a copy. I enjoyed the short articles, and this immediately became my new morning routine. Snatch a copy of the Metro at 157th street, read a few articles on the train, then promptly toss the paper once I emerged at Houston Street. Throwing out a paper I had just picked up an hour earlier felt so cavalier, to me it was an act of indifference, representing the freedom and abundance of the big city.
Never mind that you could purchase anything you needed at any nearby convenience store. My suburban-raised mind didn't fully grasp that yet. I would eventually learn.
I was afraid to touch the subway poles with my bare hands, grossed out by the idea of putting my bags on the floor. If I was lucky enough to grab a seat, those same bags would eventually be piled on my lap. About all I could do was balance my multiple bags on my shoulders, strategically positioning my body to take up as little space as possible. I simply held on for dear life as the lurching train constantly threatened to knock me over.
Personal space no longer existed. More often than not, one would find themselves packed on the train in precarious awkward positions, perhaps with your nose in another passages armpit, a stray arm right in front of your face, or a large purse bumping you from the side.
Such a calm, relaxing way to begin the day, right?
No wonder I often procrastinated going back home. I couldn’t bear the thought of dealing with my commute, so I pushed it off as long as possible. Sometimes staying at work long after-hours and expensing a car home (even when I didn't need it). Sometimes wandering aimlessly around the West Village for hours. Often finding events and happy hours. Anything to avoid the trek back home for a few more hours.
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