The apophatic life of a commuter…

There is something distinctly apophatic about the evening commute on an American highway. This is a picture taken as I was heading home last night – cars all moving fairly well at 60 mph after bottlenecking and slowing to a standstill so everyone could be a voyeur at a fender-bender. It is not what happens, but what doesnt happen that consumes the mind (and fuel) of a commuter – the radio station isnt playing what I need right now, I am not at home, I didnt get done at work what I had hoped, this car isnt as cool as the ones passing me, I am not in the freakin’ diamond lane, etc. This negative space, as noted by Sting in “Syncronicity II”, of “lemmings trapped in shiny metal boxes” is a odd place to be sure.

dang… I wish I was home…

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  1. Hmmm… Are you saying that you’re not sure what commuting is, but rather that it’s not: being home, being at work, listening to what you want to listen to…?

    This thread’s worth pursuing — is it the transition state that is frustrating (neither here nor there), or the lack of control, or something else?

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