This piece in a recent issue of The New Yorker is about commutes, notably really long ones. Quite interesting. We're fascinated by commuting--we brag about our own (short or long); we dispense advice like aspirin. (Think Holly Hunter giving directions to the cabbies in "Broadcast News.") We rationalize when we choose to live 80 miles from work, and drive solo, only to enjoy maybe 30 minutes of silence a day beside a creek. Near the end of the article, several Atlantans describe their respective commutes. Our state capital seems to know no bounds, highway-wise, and unlike L.A., it has no natural impediments like an ocean or mountains.
Let me know what you think. How far is too far a commute for you? What exactly does quality of life mean in this context? After reading this piece, my little 15-minute drive to work seems very sweet.
2 comments:
I wish we could get a park-and-ride into Fort Benning. It would be especially helpful once construction work begins on 185.
Amen to that. Or better bike lanes for commuting that way.
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