Reflections On My Commute

By Becky Hansen | Dec 08, 2010

As I was driving to work this morning, I found myself behind a slow-moving truck, the driver of which was obviously looking for a particular street.  I couldn't go around him, and wound up following him for a mile or so.  In my best New Jersey accent, I composed a series of curses that would make anyone blush, although the window was closed and no one heard but me.

 As my brand-new husband (of 8 days!) would say, I am so sweet and kind -- until I get behind the wheel of a car.  I blame it all on my formative years:  I learned to drive on the streets of Brooklyn, where aggressive driving (and its accompanying invective) is the norm and impatience rules the day.  As soon as a light turns green, you honk.  Is someone double parked to let an old woman out of the car?  The driver behind will yell "Move it, Granny!".  Once I left my apartment to get my car, and I couldn't find had been picked up and placed on a sidewalk, apparently out of spite.  You get the picture.

This morning, once the truck turned and I was finally able to resume normal speed, I looked around.  The sun was peeking over the trees; the water was glistening and the sky was clear.  I thought about how pretty my 17 minute drive to work is.  I drive over small bridges and scan the water to see swans, ducks and the occasional heron. Hawks and gulls fly overhead. The roads twist and turn through wooded areas. The antique stores of Buzzards Bay catch my eye and I slow down to see if there's anything outside I can use.  My commute now, which on its worst day was about 25 minutes, (The Bourne Bridge repaving) is so much better than the 1 1/2 hours it took me to get to work when I lived in New Jersey.  It is peaceful, beautiful and quick.   This is why I moved here.  So I'll slow down, or at least attempt to.  What's the rush?


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