How Much is Your Commute Worth?

I don't have a good commute to work. No, I'd characterize it as great. Or maybe even wonderful.

While Bridget and most of the Northeast struggle through the last few weeks of driving in the snow and ice of another brutal winter, I can't help but think of how lucky I am. Most people drive at least 25 minutes to work (the average in the US in 25.4) on crowded highways. I stroll through Harvard Yard while I listen to NPR. Most people drive among a mix of reckless idiots and angry jerks. I sometimes pass people in front of me because I tend to be a fast walker. Most people drive to a gas station at least once a week to fill up. I occasionally stop at one of the three Starbucks I pass on my way into the office.

I'm not saying any of this to be annoying; believe me, I realize how incredibly lucky I am. I'm saying all of this because I wonder what it's all worth. What's the value of a commute?

Let's try to find out. And let's use me as an example because, well, I'm writing this. (Who else would we use?)

How much money do I save every year because I get to walk 1.1 miles from my apartment in Cambridge to my office in Harvard Square (still Cambridge)? We'll start with the easy car-related stuff:

• Car payment: If we estimate this at $300 per month, that means it's $3,600 per year. 
• Car insurance: When I had a car, I paid about $80 per month. That's $960 for the year.
• Parking: There are lots of great perks that come with working in Harvard Square. Parking is not one of them. Let's estimate this at about $15 per day. Multiply that by 220 working days in a year and that's another $3,300.
• Gas: With a standard commute, we'll put this at $40 per week. Multiply that by 52 weeks and there's another $2,080.
• General upkeep: Oil changes, wipers, random stuff that goes wrong with the car. Let's just say $1,000 here to be conservative.

So, all tallied, we're at $10,940.

Now it gets tricky. Now we have to assign a monetary value to exercise, stress, and time. Here goes:

• Exercise: Rain or snow, whether it's 77 degrees or 7 degrees, I walk both ways every day. (There are a few exceptions, of course, but let's say every day.) That's 2.2 miles per day and, assuming 220 work days per year, 484 miles per year. For the sake of argument, let's say every mile walked is equal to five dollars of good health. That's obviously not scientific in any way, but it's a round number and it seems reasonable if you think about it. That's $2,420 per year.
• Time: My commute ranges from 15 minutes to 20 minutes. I'm a pretty fast walker and there aren't a whole lot of trouble spots. I do have to wait at 2-3 crosswalks (depending on which way I go), but it mostly comes down to the speed of the heel-toe express. Let's say I average 20 minutes to keep it simple. That's five minutes less than the national average, which equals 1,100 minutes or 18.3 hours per year. If we say a person's time, on average, is worth $25 per hour, then we land at $458 in savings. (That was a lot of work for a little savings.) 
• Stress: I never have to deal with traffic jams, slippery roads, or construction. And I don't really have to pay attention while I walk. I can use that 20 minutes at the end of the day to decompress after a stressful meeting or think about what I should make for dinner. To me, that savings is huge, at least $20 per commute. That equals $40 per day, so I'm going to add $8,800 to the tally. And then if I leave work around 5 PM, which I try my best to do every day, I get home to spend two hours with my family before Annabelle goes to bed. Basically, I'm home at 5:20 instead of 5:50, which seems like a reasonable estimate for the average commuter with traffic, travel time, and parking. That extra half hour of family time is worth far more than our $25 per hour rate. I could obviously argue that the time is invaluable and impossible to measure, but then we wouldn't have a number at the end. Let's say those hours are worth $100. So, $50 per day equals $11,000 per year.  

That section adds up to $22,678, which gives us a grand total of $33,618. That's pretty damn significant. I realize, of course, that I won't be this lucky for the rest of my life. I've had annoying commutes in the past and I'll have annoying commutes in the future. 

But it's nice to have this in perspective. And, more importantly, it makes me realize I better start enjoying every penny.

I'm Feeling Overwhelmed

This week, I found myself sitting in my car on the way to work, on Route 2, in stopped traffic, crying to my husband on the phone, with a wailing Annabelle in the back seat. It was, by all accounts, not one of my best moments.

You see, my commute to work, from Cambridge to Waltham, is 11.9 miles. Google Maps helpfully tells me this should take me 20 minutes. However, in reality, in winter, in Massachusetts, with a foot of badly plowed snow on the ground and hundreds of Masshole drivers, this commute takes me 3 times that.

On this morning, I sit, white knuckled, as I miss stoplight after stoplight. And bleary-eyed, I try to concentrate on the radio news as Belle drops her binky for the 87th time and starts to fuss. The fussing slowly builds to a low wail. Then, while nearing the end of my commute and trying to merge onto 128 while at the same time aggressively trying to prevent cars from jumping the long line of traffic and merging INTO me, Belle starts to scream. Binky is no longer in reach. I am already late for work and I know I still have 30 minutes of traffic ahead of me. Belle is inconsolable. NPR is giving me the rundown of the most depressing things that have happened in the world today.

It is at this point that I do the only thing I can think to do. I call my husband.

Mike answers with fear in his voice, because clearly if I am calling him at this hour something is gravely wrong.

“What it is it?” he asks.

“I can’t do it. I can’t do this. This commute. She’s crying. I can’t listen to this anymore. This isn’t going to work.”

And as her shrieks pick up from the back seat, I find myself starting to cry. My daughter and I are having a meltdown. Together, in this small car, in traffic, we are collectively losing it. And my poor husband, on his own commute to work, is listening to two blubbering ladies blubber on.

He asks what he can do to help (nothing). He sympathizes. He assures us things will be ok.

And he is right. Things will be ok. And by the time I make it to work, they are. But these moments, these meltdowns, they seem to happen a lot. So often, in fact, that Mike and I have put a word to them. When they happen, we just look at each other and say, “I’m feeling overwhelmed.” And immediately, we know what this means.

Because at the time I was sitting on Route 2, I was feeling overwhelmed by Belle’s crying and the day-to-day minutia of keeping another human alive. By the frequent feedings and diaper changes and too-short naps and the complicated outfits and the endless pumping sessions. By daycare drop-offs, and developmental milestones, and sleep training. Overwhelmed with the stuff, with the toys and tiny clothes and Rock and Plays and Jumparoos and millions of other things exploding out of our 700 square foot apartment, which is now, never, ever, even for a split second, clean. I’m overwhelmed by the heavy diaper bags and smelly bottle bags and dowdy breast pump bags that I try to juggle while also carrying Belle in her bulky car seat up and down stairs and through doors. By pacifiers constantly falling out of smiling mouths. By tiny bibs soaked in an endless stream of baby drool.

I am overwhelmed by my job, and with the daily commutes and deadlines and details and the challenging and rewarding work I get to do each day. I am overwhelmed by the generosity of my colleagues who picked up the slack when I took 16 weeks off from work to fall in love with my daughter and who still pick up the slack when my overtaxed brain starts to sputter.

I am overwhelmed with the idea that I am tasked with trying to keep another person – my husband – happy when I can barely scrape myself off the couch after Belle goes to bed. And I am overwhelmed with joy when I see Mike and Annabelle together and I realize what an incredible father he is to Annabelle, and partner he is to me. And I am just plain overwhelmed when I think of how lucky we are to have gotten pregnant and have delivered a healthy baby girl. That Mike and I get to wake up each morning with more happiness in our lives than we could have ever imagined.

That morning, and every morning, I was feeling completely and utterly overwhelmed by love for Annabelle, my perfect, amazing daughter who was crying her face off in the back seat of my car.

This new life of mine, this life of working mother and wife, is overwhelming. And 99% of the time I feel happier than I have in my entire life. But that 1%. Man, those times are tough. At those times, I really do feel like it is all too much. But in reality, I should be thankful for those moments. Because they are just an indication of how full my life has become. And I wouldn't change a thing.