In 2018, I moved back to Sheffield: the city that captured my heart during the most adventurous years of my life. There was a trade-off though: it made my commute a 100-mile round-trip, and the first journeys coincided with deepest, darkest November.

I hated it with fierce intensity.

Outbound and inbound, I struggled with the rush-hour traffic. I’d sit stationary, and think about everything I needed to get done at the office, or about everything I’d like to do in the evening. Rage began to engulf me as the windows for productivity and leisure dwindled. Each was out of my control – each was dependent on the car in front crawling forwards.

I started to dodge rush hour.

I got up earlier, which presented a different set of issues. Namely, the struggle to rouse my sleepy soul at 5.30am. I invested in a lamp that faked the sunrise to help. I also developed a caffeine addiction, usually managing 3 coffees by the time the real sun rose. I became a serial podcaster, obsessing about what I was listening to but gleaming little joy from any of them – they were just part of the commute ritual.

My back ached, my eyes were bloodshot, I missed my boyfriend, I missed my sofa and I yearned to spend time in the city I’d chosen to be a part of.

After a year, I started looking for other jobs. I simply could not go on.
And then 2020 hit.

As the world descended into chaos around us, my boyfriend and I hunkered down and worked from home. We were avoiding 200 miles a day in combined commutes and we quickly settled into a routine. I relished those warm, sunny, heady days of early lockdown. It was unusually warm for April. We chose to ignore the daily news and focus our attention on exploring from our doorstep.

I embraced a new wake-up time, rising with the real sun. I was in-tune with the changing seasons. I adopted new working positions, propping my laptop on a pompom-trimmed cushion and emailing from my bed most mornings. I smiled smugly as the sunlight streamed in through the open windows and I plunged my second cafetiere of the day.

This is the life!

***

But as lockdown ‘Stay-at-home-protect-the-NHS-save-lives’ edged into lockdown ‘Stay-alert-control-the-virus-save-lives’, the weather became more northern. The sun stopped streaming, heavy clouds rolled in and the grey began to feel overwhelming. Working from bed became less desirable as pins and needles surged through my legs. My days were increasingly laborious and I felt more and more claustrophobic. 

Work took over my previously work-free home. 

I was constantly battling my ongoing anxiety about the pandemic. I was exhausted, but was I getting too much sleep, or not enough? Should I be having more coffee or cutting back? Should I start work later, or have more breaks? Every decision came with too much introspection, overthinking and catastrophising.

I came to resent the blurry line between home and work – I’d lost the shock absorber between professional life and personal. The end of my working day was no longer marked by an hour of podcast chatter and a change of scenery, but 30 seconds of dismantling my makeshift office so that my desk could return to its original function: a dining table. Once I’d shifted the monitor and the massive jigsaw box I’d balanced it on, I could resume my perch an hour later – this time with a plate of food in front of me.

I was fed up. Again.

Nobody was as surprised as I was when I started to think fondly about the days I used to resent. As I gazed at my travel cup with nostalgia, it dawned on me that I missed the bleary-eyed structure of the morning.

I missed those days when I arrived at the office before the sun rose and I’d find myself semi-enjoying, semi-loathing a conversation about the traffic on the M1. There were days when that conversation could last an hour, and include most people who walked through the office door. There was solidarity in that shared hardship, and in the discreet eye rolls between fellow M1 commuters as a meeting ticked over its 5pm finish time (“wrap it up now or we’ll never get home”). And I missed having an excuse to nip and meet a friend for a quick drink after work (“can’t set off yet, traffic looks terrible”).

In 2020, I’ve learnt the importance of having permission to lead a balanced life.

My body – and my entire being – rejected compulsory commuting just as they rejected enforced confinement. But, as the year draws to a close, I’m much closer to finding the balance I've craved since I returned to my beloved city – it came with being given more autonomy to make seemingly small, but hugely impactful, lifestyle choices.

I’ve revelled in the freedom that comes from an absence of hard rules and a national shift to a kinder work / life outlook. I’ve found happiness in creating and tweaking my own routine each day.

Long may that continue.