An elevator I boarded the other day on the way to work was decked out wall to wall, floor to ceiling, with a panoramic image of sand dunes.
For the 30 seconds or so it took to deliver me to my destination, I stood on an imagined beach. I heard the cries of gulls, felt salt air breezes, the warmth of sun on my skin.
The tourism promoters that provided this moment of pleasure no doubt hoped the experience would prompt me to book a flight to their beachfront destination. That’s not going to happen, but I wouldn’t hesitate to ride that elevator again.
Traveling to and from work is not usually a source of happiness, let alone unexpected moments of enjoyment.
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When Nobel Prize-winning psychologist and behavioral economist Daniel Kahneman set out to measure the emotional quality of people’s experiences by getting them to rate their activities during the day, sex ranked at the top of the enjoyment scale.
That’s not surprising. But commuting ranked dead last. Who knew? The problem can’t be our destination, because half the time we are traveling home.
The other big variable that influenced enjoyment is sleep. A well-rested person feels better, even when commuting, than a sleep-deprived one, Kahneman found. Temperament plays a role too. A person inclined toward happiness feels better, even when commuting after a bad night’s sleep, than someone inclined to gloom. But that’s another topic.
One variable we can control is how we allocate our time, and we spend far too much of it commuting. Nationally, the average commute is about 25 minutes, according to census data, but the Chicago-area offers greater opportunities for this low-enjoyment activity. The average commute for Will County residents is about 34 minutes, for instance.
Kahneman is hardly the first person to suggest we discourage long commutes. But if we can’t telecommute or live closer to the office, we can try to make our journey more pleasant. Cyclists bike to work; hikers and strollers hoof it, at least part of the way.
A Chicago lawyer I knew made a habit during good-weather months of getting off the Metra train on his commute home to walk through a different neighborhood at least once a week.
Hundreds of commuters swear by the Wendella water taxis that ferry them along the Chicago River, from the Madison Street dock on the river’s South Branch to Michigan Avenue at the Wrigley Building or to River East near the lake.
In the spirit of fact-finding I ventured down the flights of stone steps to the Michigan Avenue dock, where a handful of commuters were lining up for a late afternoon run. The day was chilly and raw. These were early-season riders, like the robins braving snow in suburban backyards.
Among them was computer programmer Tom Kerstann, who takes a train in from Downers Grove, then catches a water taxi to the Wrigley Building.
The taxi rides are so “relaxing” — every rider I talked to used the same word to describe them — that they seem to last longer than their typical 10- to 12-minute passage.
“The No. 123 express bus could get me there faster, but this is a more pleasant ride,” Kerstann said.
But, the taxi would beat the No. 123 express to Union Station in an evening rush-hour race by a couple of minutes, based on transit schedules.
“It’s the quickest way,” confirms investment banker Jack Calderon, who commutes daily by water taxi from his office near Madison Street to near his high-rise home near the lake.
But who’s racing? Certainly not him. “It’s an elegant way to go to work,” he said.
“You’re not dashing and running through stoplights,” said Cara Morgan, an office manager who commutes from the suburbs. “It doesn’t feel like you’re in a hurry.”
The river unfurls slowly like a ribbon, while the boat glides underneath iron bridges in a canyon of steel and glass. It’s rare to find riders burying their noses in spreadsheets or newspapers. They’re looking at buildings or the water or the sky, or staring into space.
It feels good to be outdoors. The river stinks every once in a while, regulars say. The only thing I smell is chocolate from the Blommer plant, and it makes me hungry.
There’s no lurching or stopping and starting, just the steady swish of water against a steel prow. Away from traffic, it’s quiet.
“Except once last summer, when the girl who was tying us off fell in,” Kerstann said. “The Coast Guard was right there. That was exciting.”
It seems the taxis do for commuters what my elevator ride did for me. They hit the pause button, inserting moments of idle pleasure in days that otherwise would march all-too-purposefully forward.
We could learn a thing or two about happier commuting from the water taxi regulars.
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