Commuting Stress Quotes

My wife goes to Birmingham five times a week. My mom lives in Birmingham now after moving from Myrtle Beach. It's not just the job. A lot of people don't get that. My life is here.

I seem to spend a minimum of eight hours a day in transit of some sort or another... that's eight hours of your life gone. People always ask if I suffer from jet lag, but it's kinda become really normal for me... Although the jet lag does become a factor and you're pretty much always tired.

In Toronto, I grew up taking a subway, I grew up taking a bus. I spent my formative adult years in New York City, walking the streets, taking the subway. You're connected to the larger whole. L.A. is so spread out, and you're so incubated inside those cars and it's so exhausting to deal with the traffic, without really having the human contact.

The traffic is getting worse everyday and thus making people do things they ideally wouldn't do and you can't blame them as sitting in their cars getting baked in the sun for at least a couple of hours everyday would turn anyone delirious.

If we can survive being married and working on a soap together, commuting back and forth when we lived in New Jersey, and we didn't get divorced then, we're never gonna get divorced.

For many people, commuting is the worst part of the day, and policies that can make commuting shorter and more convenient would be a straightforward way to reduce minor but widespread suffering.

The main thing I despise about America now is driving on the freeways.

After endless days of commuting on the freeway to an antiseptic, sealed-window office, there is a great urge to backpack in the woods and build a fire.

There is nothing worse for me than sitting in traffic. That's what killed me in L.A.

The flight back and forth to LA has just started to feel like a commute, I think because all the jobs are jobs that I love doing so much, and it's such a great challenge to be holding on to all these different parts and to have to be in different mediums.

On the evening bus, the tense, pinched faces of young file clerks and elderly secretaries tell us more than we care to know. On the expressways, middle management men pose without grace behind their wheels as they flee city and job.

I hate the road so much. I almost go into a cocoon with my own people out there.

I wish I had an invisible plane to take me home to Brooklyn, and I wouldn't have to ride the subway.

All office workers are afraid of being late for work.

The longer you commute the less happy you're likely to be.

I don't like driving very much. That makes me very unhappy, because I scream a lot in the car, but other than that, life is actually pretty good.

If you're stuck in traffic, call a friend or listen to a favorite podcast. If you're waiting in a long line, make friends with a person in line with you. There are lots of ways we can change the vibe.

Trains induce such terrible anxiety. They image the possibility of total and irrevocable failure. They are also dirty, rackety, packed with strangers, an object lesson in the foul contingency of life: the talkative fellow-traveller, the possibility of children.