Its grey and bleary of course, the morning commute. The one that brings us each day into a zone of routine. We love our work, or so we hope, and we join our path of and for work, again, to get to a same place. We are still waking up and so are a thousand others, whether we are on a bus, in a car, on a train, or even a ferry. Somewhere there are bicyclists and pedestrians owning a more holistic get-to-work process, we imagine what a nicer or shorter or more vibrant commute might be like. Why even commute at all?
Imagine your commute, and imagine all those along your latitude around the world, commuting. Going to work. The morning routine, what that is, in each and every place along a latitude line. Trains, roads, waterways, steep mountains, valleys, commutes to distant cities, smog filled commutes in urban centers, shortest commutes to the farm out back, or even no commute at all. Instead the space of contemplating and watching out the window.
We go to work whatever that means for each of us.
The feeling of the Latitude Movement is the excitement of discovery, and part of what we discover is how we share a common experience as humans in the world. There are aspects of our lives that feel ordinary and unexciting to ourselves, yet may contain magic for others.
Today I traversed an ocean sound on a ferry, and was thrilled! Yet for others, this is another day going to work, and the ocean is a fog of grey.
Along a latitude line, we work. We commute. We sigh and we nod off.
