How a 30-Minute Commute Became My Spiritual Practice
Desperation can bring you down to the root level -- where you'll find your ground
Once upon a time, I accepted a position that didn’t tick all the boxes on my checklist.
The job had a few attributes that were on top of my list of priorities, so I allowed myself to turn a blind eye to a couple of other important items that weren’t there.
Remote work, for instance, was not an option.
After years of working from home, this was my biggest loss.
I was used to being able to throw laundry into the washer, or chicken thighs into the oven, during five-minute breaks during the day. Remote work meant that dinner was close to done by the time the rest of the family walked through the door, and clothes were ready to be claimed, folded, and put away.
With the new gig, I had to have my gear stored, computer humming, and be signed onto my accounts before the stroke of 8:30. My timesheet was automatically dinged for a 30–minute lunch break each noon…which I was able to take exactly twice. The rest of the lunches my supervisor and I worked through, unpaid. Quitting time was at 5 pm but I usually left a half hour after that. The half-hour commute on either end of this day meant I was out of my house from 7:45am to 6pm.
Not optimal, but also not the end of the world.
Here are the circumstances that made it suck:
My husband’s work schedule — from 3:30am to 3pm — meant he was going to bed soon after I arrived home. My son, who has special needs, required more help with his homework — and more time with Mom in general — than the new schedule allowed. Even the dog, who found herself locked in a crate much of the day, fell into a slump.
Nonetheless, the family put the halcyon days of my remote work behind us, and embraced the now.
I became my own cheerleader. Working at the office promised new friends! Didn’t I miss my last office gig’s holiday pot-lucks? Soon, I promised myself, the new job jitters would wear off and I’d happily greet each Monday morning with a song.
Sadly, no.
The weeks and months passed, but settling into the job seemed more and more out of reach every day.
I wasn’t allowed to do what I know how to do; at mid-career, I wasn’t trusted to be anything more than a well-paid intern. In fact, I was two months in before my supervisor allowed me to perform some of the most basic items in my job description. I’d never encountered this before. Every day ended with the message, “No, you’re not ready to do that,” followed quickly by “Why aren’t you doing that?”
My supervisor listened to conversations I had with coworkers and later critiqued what I had said, telling me what I should have said. I had to report on the sorting of my daily email (instructions on which the supervisor had provided) every evening before leaving. Messages from the supervisor had to be answered immediately at any time of the day; if not, they would be followed up by a Teams message, a text, and then a phone call. No time was dedicated to concentrated creative work.
I doubled down, determined to make it work. I already was arriving earlier than most and leaving after the rest of the parking lot was empty was getting me nowhere. I scrambled for ideas. How could I turn this around?
Each evening I arrived home practically shaking.
I was so stressed out worrying about how the day would go at my shitty new job that I couldn’t stand hearing music or audiobooks or the news. I needed quiet, just to ready myself for the onslaught.
In the comforting silence, I found myself reciting the Lord’s Prayer, the 23rd Psalm, a few Jesus Prayers, and the Gloria Patri. I threw in a few Hail Marys, too; I’m not Catholic, but I appreciate the divine feminine.
Then when I’d gotten myself calmed down enough to hear answers, I asked questions. “Am I in the right job?” and “How can I make this better?”
Later, the chat became more directive. “Please give me a sign.”
Then, “Please give me a sign so obvious that even I can’t miss it.”
Soon afterward, I knew what I had to do.
Out of every crisis, there is an opportunity, they say. Is this true? Ask the people of Pompeii.
In this case, however, the crisis did present an opportunity.
Me in the past: “Gee, I wish I had more time for zenning out with some prayer and meditation.
Also me in the past: “Right now, I could either meditate or start dinner. I choose dinner.”
Me in my car, driving to a shitty job: “Om. Hallelujah! Namaste! Amen!”
Here’s where I should add the note, for those who don’t know me: I’m a slow thinker. I’m a considerer. I like to weigh my options, in terms of life choices, for much longer than most people ever would. That’s why it’s so shocking, this time, how quickly I came around. I just figured shit out. Like a normal person.
I saw how feelings of helplessness fueled the misery in every moment at the office. Looking for a new job would put me back in charge; I started sending out resumes. Then I realized sending out resumes felt good, but not quite a bullseye. What would feel right?
Working for myself would feel right.
The answer had to come twice before I listened. I had always wanted to work for myself but hadn’t had the time or the money or the guts before. I hadn’t had a supportive spouse before. (My ex was all about what I could do for him, not the other way around.)
How could I work for myself? I started Googling my questions. Opportunities lay waiting in the answers. I needed credentials; I got them. I needed a license; I got it. I needed to increase my network; I reached out to old contacts and made new ones.
After only three months I was handing in my notice at the office.
Normally the decision would have taken me years to work out, while I tried every day to earn respect in an organization that was never, ever going to give me any.
The difference now, I believe, is the thirty minutes of prayer and reflection that the commute gave me every morning. Without it, I would not have had the clarity, perspective, or courage to make a move.
In the end, this crisis did yield an opportunity. It forced me to turn off the noise and start listening to the inner voice.
Now, I wasn’t born yesterday.
I’ve been in the working world long enough to know that every oportunity brings its own stressors, its own dangers, its own bullshit. The business I’ve started may or may not make it. That’s life. And it’s not even the point.
The most valuable thing I got from this chapter of my life isn’t the business license. It’s the tight relationship that I’ve developed with God. Deity. The Great Oz. The Universe.
My biggest challenge now is to maintain that relationship, now that I don’t have a half-hour commute every morning in which to pray and sing and question and listen. I have experienced spiritual highs and lows in the past, and I don’t want to lose the ground I’ve gained in this latest chapter.
For now, let’s just say Amen.
Hello, Enthusiasts! I’m a writer specializing in world religions. With M.Div. in hand, I’ve spent the past couple of decades exploring Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism, Islam, Jainism, Judaism, and Shinto, as well as traditional Incan practice. Check out some of my other Religion and Spirituality stories here.
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