Funny really, the stresses and strains of modern life. Living in a big city, life seems to race away, threatening to leave you behind if you let it. On the Underground, or waiting for a bus in any London suburb, commuters stare at the platform indicator, wondering when that next Bank branch train will come, and why a minute of Transport for London's time feels like four of anyone else's. Actually, now I think about it, why is that?
But I digress. All of that tension for a train that comes every three or four minutes? What's the hurry all about? In mid-Suffolk, where the trains come every hour, the tension is lower in its intensity. I can't really arrive at the last minute, because if I do, and I miss the train, the implications are serious - I'll be an hour late. For my London equivalent, call him or her City Bureaucrat, it makes a five minute difference, hardly fatal. I suppose that choice is a factor. "Have I taken the best route, could I have got there faster via X?", I often wondered. Now, I have one route, and I'll get there eventually. No anguish, just resignation.
I tend to feel less hassled here in mid-Suffolk. It isn't that I have less to do, far from it. My commute isn't much different to what it's always been. It's just a frame of mind, I guess. I can get around, I simply need to be more organised, a bit less spontaneous, a bit more patient. And perhaps that last point is the crux of the matter, patience. So why not leave a little extra time for your journey, find a moment to chat with whoever sells you your newspaper or your train ticket. In short, just chill. You might be surprised by the results...
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