I complain a lot about my commute (an average of 16mi/45 min each way, in heavy stop-and-go traffic), but today I am going to be grateful that I HAVE a nice warm, safe, newish car to commute in. Without a car it would take me 90 minutes each way to walk 1 mile, ride one train, switch to another train, then switch to a bus to get to work. Our car has airbags, good brakes, and always starts reliably, even during periods of the Stupid Cold. Unlike public transit, I get to control the temperature, the noise level and the smell-level*. I can make a detour to run errands on the way home if I want to. I get to be alone with my thoughts or with my audio books or make phone calls with my bluetooth system and have Siri read me my text messages and take dictation. I get to crank up the heat as high as I want it and drive to work in an 80 degree cocoon on cold days and no one else complains. The long commute is my own damn fault for wanting to live on one side of the city and work on the other. But I am privileged that I can commute in comfort and safety.

*well, the car WAS smell-free until the Great Whiskey-Cider Punch Disaster of Thanksgiving Day. In which a container of whiskey-laced apple cider tipped over and spilled several pints of the mixture into the upholstery and down into the spare tire well. The car has smelled a little bit drunk ever since, causing me some worry about what will happen next time I get pulled over for a burned out tail light or something minor and the cop smells whiskey wafting out the window. “I swear, officer, it’s not me that’s drunk, it’s the car!” Ben’s grandparents used to own an apple orchard, and their term for cider that has begun to ferment is “beezy.” So, we’ve named the car Lil’ Beezy.