It’s getting harder to remember when my life was normal, particularly my work life. Today most people will set out on their Monday morning routine waking up around the same time I did at five o’clock, but beyond that my commute and in fact my entire day are quite a different story.
At five I’m up and showering. I have my bags packed and clothes out last night, a regimen that’s getting simpler, and everything is on the kitchen floor ready for a seamless exit. I’ve packed some clean boxers and socks that I’ll need this week, but I still managed to stuff everything into my laptop bag which will be my only carry-on this time. The car that I’m driving is a rental that I picked up Friday night in Chicago where I’ll return it in a couple hours.
Ready with exact change for the toll booths, I leave the house quietly at five-thirty and start toward South Bend making stops at the bank and the Starbucks drive-through before entering the Indiana Toll Road at six o’clock. I’ll look for a clear talk radio station, probably 760 WGN Chicago, or an audio book. This week I started listening to Barack Obama’s Audacity of Hope, a father’s day gift.
Approaching the Indiana border where the I-80 and I-90 split, I watch a subtle Indiana sunrise in my rearview mirror, symbolizing my departure from real life and the one that my consciousness will accept as reality until Friday night.
I arrive punctually at Cicero Avenue in Chicago at 6:30 central time, stopping to refuel before turning in this week’s second family car.
Like other road warriors, I know how to navigate Terminal B at Chicago Midway, prepare myself quickly for the security checkpoint, and easily slip the shoes back on and repack the laptop as I take a few steps toward the same counter where I buy a bottled water and USA Today on the way to Gate 26, a routine which varies little from last week except for the hour-long delay that enables me to finish To Be Told by Dan Alender.
On the usual 737-800 I find my seat 1A again this week. I’d started in 2A but the family in Row 2 needs to sit together with their infant, while the 40 year-old mother of a newborn infant in Row 1 handles her sleeping daughter easily with the help of her mother on the aisle.
I’m still deciding which mode of transportation works best from the airport at dfw to work in downtown Fort Worth. I’ve rented cars and I’ve taken Super Shuttle which is less expensive than a taxi but far more than the train which I haven’t tried yet despite buying an Bus & Rail E-Pass last week. Unfortunately, the every-other-hour schedule into Fort Worth is either too early or too late for me. Mike and Terri, the “hot tub couple” at my apartment complex, said they’d heard that Yellow Checker Shuttle was reasonable at $15 so I try it this week and it works out great, dropping me at the Renaissance Worthington Hotel only a ten minute walk from my office.
I walk into the lobby of our building, say hello to Davis the security guard, and he lets me know that my laundry is ready. I tell him that I’ll pick it up when I leave tonight, and he says no problem.
I was clever last Friday and brought a change of clothes into the office before heading to the airport so I’d be able to come straight from the airport in my traveling clothes. I take the elevator to the 4th floor, say hello to people that are becoming more familiar every week, and open my office, grabbing the empty waste basket on the way in. I close the door momentarily, do a quick change while the computer boots up, and then open the door as if I’m flipping the “closed” sign over to “open” to start business for today.
I find the e-mail folder is 10 times fuller than last Monday. The expectations are greater, and that’s okay because I’m busy and the projects I’m managing are important. I don’t stop until six-thirty when I decide that I need to call Melissa and the kids, and then go for my swim without staying up too late.
The walk toward my apartment is warm and balmy, and although I tend to cross different streets and take different routines as I cut through town every night, it all seems more familiar and second-nature. I still look up and enjoy certain sights, like the contrast of modern skyscrapers with their glass faces looming behind the old turn-of the-nineteenth century ones, or the small country music radio station sitting in the middle of a downtown parking lot where I watch the deejay working behind the window before passing Jamba Juice in the same quaint little building. On the same street is Barnes & Noble, but each time is easier to pass without stopping as I look forward to spending time there with Melissa soon.
I’m reluctant to say I’m “home,” but as I open the door with the pog on my keychain, the air-conditioning pulls me in with a cool welcome. The walk down the long hallway toward the elevator is on a downward slope, leading me to end of the hall where I’ll call the elevator, turn the corner to the mail room where I’ll check my weekend mail – usually one item if I’m lucky, and then back to the elevator which has arrived.
I took the time on Friday to clean, vacuum, put away clean clothes and run the dishwasher, and as I open the door I grab the disposable camera that the kids gave me and take a few shots of my clean Texas apartment for them.
First things first, I turn on the A/C, take a frozen Healthy Choice dinner and put it in the microwave, get into shorts and comfortable socks, and turn on the TV because, I’ve figured out, I don’t like the silence of being alone.
I talk to Melissa and the kids, and then take my towel and walk back to the front of the complex and cool off with an easy swim before bedtime. The sunrise has nearly faded, but it still lingers over the trees on Trinity Bluff just over the fence. Suddenly my mind downshifts and mentally I have some capacity for creativity, but I am sleepy. Next Monday will be the same, and that’s okay. But the rest of the week, I tell myself, has to count for much more.
At five I’m up and showering. I have my bags packed and clothes out last night, a regimen that’s getting simpler, and everything is on the kitchen floor ready for a seamless exit. I’ve packed some clean boxers and socks that I’ll need this week, but I still managed to stuff everything into my laptop bag which will be my only carry-on this time. The car that I’m driving is a rental that I picked up Friday night in Chicago where I’ll return it in a couple hours.
Ready with exact change for the toll booths, I leave the house quietly at five-thirty and start toward South Bend making stops at the bank and the Starbucks drive-through before entering the Indiana Toll Road at six o’clock. I’ll look for a clear talk radio station, probably 760 WGN Chicago, or an audio book. This week I started listening to Barack Obama’s Audacity of Hope, a father’s day gift.
Approaching the Indiana border where the I-80 and I-90 split, I watch a subtle Indiana sunrise in my rearview mirror, symbolizing my departure from real life and the one that my consciousness will accept as reality until Friday night.
I arrive punctually at Cicero Avenue in Chicago at 6:30 central time, stopping to refuel before turning in this week’s second family car.
Like other road warriors, I know how to navigate Terminal B at Chicago Midway, prepare myself quickly for the security checkpoint, and easily slip the shoes back on and repack the laptop as I take a few steps toward the same counter where I buy a bottled water and USA Today on the way to Gate 26, a routine which varies little from last week except for the hour-long delay that enables me to finish To Be Told by Dan Alender.
On the usual 737-800 I find my seat 1A again this week. I’d started in 2A but the family in Row 2 needs to sit together with their infant, while the 40 year-old mother of a newborn infant in Row 1 handles her sleeping daughter easily with the help of her mother on the aisle.
I’m still deciding which mode of transportation works best from the airport at dfw to work in downtown Fort Worth. I’ve rented cars and I’ve taken Super Shuttle which is less expensive than a taxi but far more than the train which I haven’t tried yet despite buying an Bus & Rail E-Pass last week. Unfortunately, the every-other-hour schedule into Fort Worth is either too early or too late for me. Mike and Terri, the “hot tub couple” at my apartment complex, said they’d heard that Yellow Checker Shuttle was reasonable at $15 so I try it this week and it works out great, dropping me at the Renaissance Worthington Hotel only a ten minute walk from my office.
I walk into the lobby of our building, say hello to Davis the security guard, and he lets me know that my laundry is ready. I tell him that I’ll pick it up when I leave tonight, and he says no problem.
I was clever last Friday and brought a change of clothes into the office before heading to the airport so I’d be able to come straight from the airport in my traveling clothes. I take the elevator to the 4th floor, say hello to people that are becoming more familiar every week, and open my office, grabbing the empty waste basket on the way in. I close the door momentarily, do a quick change while the computer boots up, and then open the door as if I’m flipping the “closed” sign over to “open” to start business for today.
I find the e-mail folder is 10 times fuller than last Monday. The expectations are greater, and that’s okay because I’m busy and the projects I’m managing are important. I don’t stop until six-thirty when I decide that I need to call Melissa and the kids, and then go for my swim without staying up too late.
The walk toward my apartment is warm and balmy, and although I tend to cross different streets and take different routines as I cut through town every night, it all seems more familiar and second-nature. I still look up and enjoy certain sights, like the contrast of modern skyscrapers with their glass faces looming behind the old turn-of the-nineteenth century ones, or the small country music radio station sitting in the middle of a downtown parking lot where I watch the deejay working behind the window before passing Jamba Juice in the same quaint little building. On the same street is Barnes & Noble, but each time is easier to pass without stopping as I look forward to spending time there with Melissa soon.
I’m reluctant to say I’m “home,” but as I open the door with the pog on my keychain, the air-conditioning pulls me in with a cool welcome. The walk down the long hallway toward the elevator is on a downward slope, leading me to end of the hall where I’ll call the elevator, turn the corner to the mail room where I’ll check my weekend mail – usually one item if I’m lucky, and then back to the elevator which has arrived.
I took the time on Friday to clean, vacuum, put away clean clothes and run the dishwasher, and as I open the door I grab the disposable camera that the kids gave me and take a few shots of my clean Texas apartment for them.
First things first, I turn on the A/C, take a frozen Healthy Choice dinner and put it in the microwave, get into shorts and comfortable socks, and turn on the TV because, I’ve figured out, I don’t like the silence of being alone.
I talk to Melissa and the kids, and then take my towel and walk back to the front of the complex and cool off with an easy swim before bedtime. The sunrise has nearly faded, but it still lingers over the trees on Trinity Bluff just over the fence. Suddenly my mind downshifts and mentally I have some capacity for creativity, but I am sleepy. Next Monday will be the same, and that’s okay. But the rest of the week, I tell myself, has to count for much more.
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