During the pandemic I was one of the privileged who could work from home, but for many years I commuted 38 miles from Santa Cruz to Foothill College in the heart of Silicon Valley, a drive that took me across the Santa Cruz Mountains on the toboggan run known as Highway 17. The summer before I started that job, I was helping another woman from Holy Cross Church organize the parish library when our pastor emeritus Father Mike Marini stopped in, and she told him that I would soon be working “over the hill.” With a sympathetic smile he gave me a blessing – which was comforting but at the same time added to my trepidation about the commute I was about to undertake. Although I’d always considered Catholics who kept a St. Christopher’s medal in their car sort of superstitious and old-fashioned, after Father Mike’s blessing I bought one for my Mazda Miata.
Generally, my drive over the hill and back took two hours of my day. During a storm, or if there was an accident or some other incident like a downed power line across the highway or an armed bank robber at large in the area, it could take twice as long. Near the summit of Highway 17, you lose the signal from whatever radio station you’re listening to when you started, and I soon set up my radio with separate pre-sets for the Santa Cruz side and the Silicon Valley side, so I could shift from KAZU to KQED or vice versa without missing a moment of my NPR show.
Except for the occasional jerk, commuters are competent and well mannered. I realized I’d truly become one of them when I drove Highway 17 on the weekend and noticed how erratic and disorganized it seemed. Drivers unaccustomed to the twists and poorly banked curves drove too slowly for my taste, while impatient or overly confident drivers went too fast, zigging and zagging in a way that put everyone in danger. This realization gave me a sense of camaraderie with my fellow commuters and filled me with a perverse pride.
Even in the best of situations, though, I often thought about how many assumptions any of us make when we set out in a car. For everything to go smoothly the way we expect to it – even on a short trip to the grocery store – every driver on the road must know the traffic laws and how to handle their cars; they must be sane and sober, attentive in a world filled with distractions. We hope no one has just had a fight or worse, is in the middle of one. It’s a lot to ask for. On the road, strangers isolated in our separate vehicles become a community utterly dependent on each other’s skill and good will.
I retired at the end of June, filled with profound gratitude for my career as a librarian — and for surviving my commute over the hill for more than twenty years. Thank you to St. Christopher and Father Mike, to my guardian angel, and to everyone who shared the road with me.
The Kingdom of Enough 