The Ideal Commute Is Not Actually No Commute

I can't say for sure that I have the world's shortest commute, but if it were any shorter, I'd probably be dead. My commute is three each way: That would be steps, not stops or even minutes. Three steps from the threshold of my bedroom to that of my home office. To be totally honest, I've done the trip in one. My version of a traffic jam is when one of the cats is lying in the doorway. My version of a real-time transit update is, I suppose, whatever spinal signal tells the brain the legs are working.

But sometimes—and, not looking a gift horse in the mouth, I stress just sometimes—I wish the trip were a bit more substantial. Or, that it at least existed. That's especially true after work, and I will often leave (or even invent) errands for the early evening to simulate a trip home. It gives some time to decompress. To ruminate on a story in progress. To transition from office persona to home persona. To wonder whether or not my physical environment is the main reason those personas aren't more distinct.