Romanticizing My Commute as a Daily Escape

For a long time, I dreaded my commute.

The traffic. The noise. The sameness.

The sense that time was being wasted between where I was and where I had to be.

I saw it as something to get through—head down, headphones in, eyes glazed over.

But at some point, in a particularly overwhelming season of life, I craved softness. Not time off, not a grand vacation—just a moment of breathing space.

And oddly enough, I found it… on the bus.

Or in the car.

Or on the train platform.

That “in-between” space I had written off as pointless.

I started romanticizing my commute. And in doing so, I turned it into a sacred ritual.

🌆 From Mundane to Meaningful

Romanticizing your life isn’t about delusion.

It’s about perspective.

When I stopped seeing my commute as lost time and started treating it like me time, everything shifted.

I realized:

This was time I could reclaim, rather than resent.

It could be a bridge between versions of myself—who I am at home, and who I am in the world.

It could become a daily reset, a soft pause in a loud day.

And so I began the gentle experiment of turning my commute into a daily escape. Not away from life—but into myself.

🎧 What My Romanticized Commute Looks Like

Every detail became intentional. Every small act infused with meaning. Here's what that looks like:

🌅 1. A Mood Playlist

Instead of random podcasts or noisy news, I curated playlists for my mood.

Sometimes soft jazz. Sometimes ambient rain. Sometimes a soundtrack that made me feel like I was in a coming-of-age movie.

I wasn’t commuting. I was the main character on a slow, poetic journey.

🖋 2. Mental Check-ins

I’d ask myself simple but grounding questions:

“How do I feel in this moment?”

“What do I need today?”

“What am I grateful for right now?”

No pressure to fix anything. Just noticing.

🪟 3. Looking Out the Window With Intention

Instead of staring at my screen, I’d look out.

At trees, clouds, streetlights, strangers.

I watched the city move and remembered:

I’m part of something bigger. And smaller. And right now.

📚 4. Bringing Beauty With Me

Sometimes I’d carry a small book of poetry.

Or a sachet of lavender tucked into my bag.

Or wear a favorite scarf just because it made me feel lovely.

These small touches made me feel like I wasn’t rushing through the day—I was gracing it with presence.

☁️ 5. Imagining New Narratives

I’d make up stories about the people around me.

Not in a creepy way—but a creative one.

That old man at the window? A retired painter.

That woman on her phone? Planning a secret elopement.

Me? A quiet observer in a world full of mysteries.

Suddenly, everything became cinematic.

💡 Why Romanticizing the Commute Works

Because so much of modern life is automated.

We move without feeling. Respond without noticing. Rush without reason.

Romanticizing the commute breaks the pattern.

It injects presence into something that used to be purely functional.

It says: “This moment matters too.”

Not just the destination. Not just the workday.

But the space in between.

🧠 The Mental Health Benefits I Didn’t Expect

Since transforming my commute into a ritual, I’ve noticed:

Less morning anxiety: Starting with beauty instead of dread sets a calmer tone.

More mindfulness: I arrive at work already centered, not scattered.

Increased creativity: My best ideas often strike during this sacred pause.

More gratitude: Even on tough days, I have a pocket of peace to hold onto.

It became less about escaping my life, and more about savoring it.

🛠 Tips to Romanticize Your Commute

Whether you walk, drive, take the train, or bike—these ideas can help:

Curate a “Main Character” playlist

Carry a small item that feels grounding (stone, scent, photo)

Try intentional breathing at stoplights or stations

Observe your surroundings like you’re in a movie

Let go of rushing. Practice soft awareness.

Make it a ritual, not a race.

Even five intentional minutes can change your state of mind for the entire day.

🌙 Final Words: Every Moment Can Hold Magic

You don’t have to wait for a vacation, a weekend, or a turning point to feel alive.

You don’t need permission to enjoy the in-between.

Sometimes, the most radical form of self-care is choosing to see beauty in what’s already here.

The train ride.

The drive home.

The slow walk to your door.

These are not just transitions.

They are invitations—to return to yourself. To feel. To notice. To soften.

So light your internal candle.

Put on the music that makes your soul stir.

And ride toward your life like it’s already art.