not so special

I wrote this last Monday, on my first day commuting to my new ( temporary) job:

I’d forgotten how humbling commuting is. I woke up early this morning—earlier than I’ve woken up in probably 7 months—thinking while I was showering, getting dressed, doing my hair, putting on makeup, getting my lunch ready, and eating breakfast that I was lucky to have secured a job for myself, even with millions of others out of work.

I left the house in business casual, even though just casual was recommended, vowing this time with the makeup and the heels and the black pants and the sweater to dress for the position I want and not the one I have (which is, for the moment, no position at all really). I left myself 30 minutes because the commute was a familiar one, I got to the train at 8:35 and realized that lots of other people—hundreds, thousands, millions even—have jobs in the Loop they need to get to by 9:00. Lots of them were wearing black pants. Leather shoes. Heels. Makeup. The first train went by—completely full. I hoped that the next one would spare me from having to kick myself for forgetting that other people work too. Or worse—taking a cab.

I thankfully got on the next one, and when I got to my stop I followed the lines of the other business-clad clad folks up the escalators, through the turnstiles, and out into the street, walking briskly toward my new temporary workplace. We’re all lucky to have jobs, I guess.

I have ditched the makeup since, and given myself a little more time to get to work than I should need. There are millions out of work, but there are still millions going to work, just like usual. And for them, it’s nothing special. But for me, well, I’m thankful.