In life, we often make choices that seem small in the moment but later become the very reasons why we grow in ways we never imagined. Back in 2019, when we moved from living just five kilometers away from my workplace to suddenly being thirty-six kilometers away, I didn’t realize how much that shift would shape my daily life. The move meant waking up at five in the morning just to make it to work by seven thirty or eight, depending on the traffic. It was not a short ride by any means. To get there, I had to catch a bus, then transfer to a train, then hop on another bus, and then one more bus before finally arriving at the office. Thinking about it now, that journey feels like a marathon I used to run every single day. Yet surprisingly, I did not complain. At that time, it just felt like part of life, a routine I needed to accept to keep moving forward.
Then 2020 arrived and everything turned upside down. COVID-19 forced us into a new reality where commuting was replaced by staying home. I remember the first quarter of that year, suddenly realizing that my desk was just a few meters away from my bed. It felt strange at first because I was so used to the long daily commute. Instead of waking up before the sun rose, I could get out of bed and be ready for work in minutes. It was convenient, almost too convenient, and slowly I grew accustomed to it. The five a.m. wake up call was gone and with it went the daily ritual of rushing from one mode of transport to another. Life shrank into the walls of the house, and work became something I could reach by simply opening a laptop.
When companies started bringing people back under hybrid work models, it was not as easy to adjust as I thought it would be. After months of working from home, going back to waking up early and facing long trips again was heavy. Still, I endured because that is what life asked of me. There are seasons when comfort is given and seasons when effort is demanded. Hybrid work meant I had to rebuild the stamina to sit in traffic, wait for buses, and time everything carefully so I wouldn’t be late. At times it felt like two worlds pulling me in different directions—the convenience of home and the structure of the office.
By 2023, a new chapter opened when I went on parental leave. That was a different kind of adjustment, one that shifted my priorities completely. Work took a step back, and I poured myself into a new role at home. Coming back after that break was not only about resuming a career but also about carrying with me the changes that parenthood brought. Life had already been rearranged by distance, by a pandemic, and by hybrid schedules, and now it was also shaped by family. Each change layered on top of the other, and each layer taught me something about patience and resilience.
Then came middle of 2024 and another move, this time not as dramatic but just as meaningful. The new workplace location was now only twenty minutes away from where I live. Suddenly, the long bus-train-bus-bus routine was replaced by a much simpler journey. What once took hours of planning now only took a short trip. At first, I felt relief. Finally, after years of long commutes, something easier had arrived. But I also began to reflect on why things had unfolded the way they did. Why did we choose to build a house far from my work in the first place, especially when I do not drive? Why did I have to go through years of long travel before ending up in a place where work was suddenly much closer?
Sometimes I believe everything happens for a reason, even if we only see that reason much later. Those years of waking up at five in the morning taught me discipline. They showed me how much I could endure without complaining, how strong routine could be, and how life adapts when you accept what is needed of you. The months of working from home taught me that comfort is not just physical but also mental, and that slowing down is not the same as stopping. The hybrid model reminded me that balance is never easy but always worth trying for. Parental leave showed me that no matter how demanding work can be, there are parts of life that shift our focus in ways that make us grow even more. And now, with a workplace just twenty minutes away, I understand comfort in a new light.
Looking back, I think the distance was never really about the kilometers. It was about the lessons stretched across them. The five a.m. alarms, the long bus rides, the crowded trains, and the quiet walks to my desk all became part of a journey that shaped how I see my choices today. Maybe the house was built far from work not to make my life harder, but to teach me patience and endurance. Maybe the timing of the pandemic was strange but necessary for me to slow down and see another side of living. And maybe each move, each adjustment, was preparing me for a stage when things would align more comfortably.
There are times when I still question it. It is natural to ask why we made certain decisions, why we chose certain paths. But more and more, I realize that every choice and every circumstance comes together in ways we cannot predict. Sometimes it feels like life has a quiet order to it, as if it gently guides us toward where we need to be, even if the route is long and winding. The commute from five kilometers to thirty-six and now to just twenty minutes is not only a story about distance. It is a story about growth, change, and the strange way life arranges comfort at the right time.
Now, as I leave home and get to work in less than half an hour, I carry all those years with me. The long commutes taught me how strong I could be. The work-from-home days showed me how adaptable I could become. The hybrid schedules and parental leave taught me how much I could adjust when life shifts suddenly. And today’s short commute is not just convenience—it is a reminder of everything I went through to reach this stage. Sometimes life feels like a puzzle, and the pieces only make sense when you look back. For me, the pieces of distance, time, and change finally fit together, and I find comfort knowing that maybe it was all meant to be this way.
