My mom never commuted a damn day in her life.

Sure, if by commuting, one meant travel to part time gigs as a Vegas aficionado or quasi professional cruiser, then yes, the term commuting fits.

I inherited many things from my mom; sheepish good looks, quick wit, an excellent judge of character, humility, strength, but the one thing I’m most proud of is my Roman upbringing.
It’s a type of fickle pragmatism that bodes well for me.

It means I can laugh at myself and justifiably decide to kill you if you dare join in.

If I’m feeling charitable, I might even let you choose the weapon.

That’s Roman pride.

I digress.

My mom was the one who forced me to apply for the job I have now.

So I did.

I knew better than to challenge my mother.

She had vision.

She had style.

She did not want me watching Maury for the next 12 months.

When I started my new job, this thing called commuting was a novelty for the both of us.

My commute would be the time we would catch up with each other, texting or talking in the quiet zone about the day’s events.

Good to know idiocy runs the lengths of GO Transit, affecting Hamilton and ‘New Toronto’ respectively.

My mom is the reason this blog was created.  It’s an attempt to fill a void and pass some time.

Keeping my mom’s lack of commuter experience in mind, it made complete sense to absorb her wisdom relating to commuter travel.

So, in honour of the one month anniversary of my mom’s emancipation from life, I give you some rules of commuting according to my mother.

Go to work!

My first day of work and a train delay occurs (the element of foreshadow) which makes me really late for my first day.

I call home in a panic, wondering what I should do.

Should I call in tired?

Do I say I have type 2 Pink Eye?

Do I lie and pretend I thought the start date was the following Monday?!!

Not my best option in retrospect.

“Go to work! You need a job!” Geesh. I thought she was loving our quality time together and my reorganization of the house.

She was right. You can’t really commute if you have nothing to commute to.

If you don’t like it, you can always quit.

A tad contradictory to the first rule, but it gave me comfort in the early days.

Especially when commuting meant it’s dark in the morning and at night.

My mom believed in me long after I stopped believing in myself.

Or maybe it was reverse psychology.

Either way it worked.

Don’t be a hero.

“If some (insert expletive here) wants to jump off the train or on the track and kill themselves, let them! Don’t be a hero!”

Don’t end up making the news because of other people’s stupidity.

She’s right. I wouldn’t want to share the headlines, anyway.

Always let someone cross the road before you. 
The kissing cousin to the above rule, in the land where I work, the land far far away, people J-walk all the time.

Like there’s free hot dogs being distributed somewhere.

Or to catch their Ubers.

It’s the only time I follow the crowd—so that I don’t get hit by oncoming traffic.

It is what is it is.

Sound advice in response to the multiple delays and cancellations. I can’t worry about the things I can’t control.

But I can certainly blog about them.

Have a good day.

This was the sign-off to our morning conversations. It’s good life advice, too.

Have a good day. Regardless of what life throws at you.

Make an effort.

Tomorrow is not guaranteed.

Mi manchi moltissimo ma so che sei vicina dovunque io vada.

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