You’re sitting at a red light. Your GPS says it’s twelve minutes to your driveway if you stay on the main artery. But something in you resists. You flick the turn signal, veer into the residential neighborhood, and suddenly you’ve took the long way home.
It’s a weirdly universal human impulse. Why do we do it? We’re obsessed with productivity, yet we’ll voluntarily waste twenty minutes staring at oak trees or driving past an old high school. It isn't just about avoiding a traffic jam on the interstate. Honestly, it's a quiet rebellion against the clock.
The Psychology of the Transition Gap
Most people think of a commute as "dead time." It’s the friction between who you are at the office and who you are at the dinner table. When you took the long way home, you were actually engaging in what psychologists call "boundary work."
Dr. Blake Ashforth from Arizona State University has written extensively about role transitions. He suggests that we need physical and temporal buffers to shed one identity and put on another. If your commute is too short—or too stressful—you carry the "work self" right into your living room. That’s how arguments start over nothing. The long way serves as a decompression chamber. It’s a deliberate choice to prolong the "in-between" state where nobody wants anything from you.
Life is loud.
Sometimes the car is the only place where you aren't a boss, a parent, or a spouse. You're just a person in a seat.
Digital Fatigue and the Need for Analog Input
We spend all day staring at blue light. Our brains are fried by 5:00 PM. When you took the long way home today, you might have been seeking "soft fascination." This is a core component of Attention Restoration Theory (ART), developed by Rachel and Stephen Kaplan.
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Hard fascination is what happens when you’re staring at a spreadsheet or dodging a car in your blind spot; it’s taxing. Soft fascination is what happens when you look at clouds, trees, or the way the sun hits a brick wall. It allows the prefrontal cortex to rest. By choosing the scenic route, you’re literally performing maintenance on your brain's ability to focus.
Why the "Shortest Path" Isn't Always the Best
Our phones are programmed to be efficient. Google Maps or Waze will fight tooth and nail to save you ninety seconds. But efficiency is a narrow metric for a good life.
Consider the concept of "serendipity." When you stick to the same three-mile stretch of asphalt every day, your world shrinks. You see the same signs. You hit the same bumps. Taking the detour introduces "procedural entropy." You might see a new coffee shop opening up, or notice a house for sale in a neighborhood you never considered. You're feeding your subconscious new data points.
It’s about agency.
Following a glowing blue line on a screen makes you a passenger in your own life. Navigating by instinct—turning left because the street looks quiet—reclaims a tiny bit of autonomy.
Cultural Echoes of the Long Way
This isn't a new phenomenon. Think about the music. From Supertramp’s "Take the Long Way Home" to Norah Jones, the concept is shorthand for a search for identity. The lyrics usually hint at someone who doesn't feel like they belong anywhere, so they stay in motion.
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- The super-short commute trap: People who live five minutes from work often report higher stress than those with a twenty-minute drive. They never "switch off."
- The walking detour: It’s not just cars. Urban flâneurs—people who wander cities without a destination—have been doing this since 19th-century Paris.
- The ritualistic element: Sometimes the long way involves a specific stop. A certain park bench. A specific radio station that only comes in clear on the ridge.
The Cognitive Benefits of New Scenery
Neurologically, routine is the enemy of time perception. Have you ever noticed how a week of vacation feels longer than a month of work? That’s because your brain isn't forming many new memories when you're on autopilot. When you took the long way home, you forced your brain to actually process your surroundings.
This creates "anchors" in your day. Instead of your Monday being a blur of emails and a driveway, it becomes the day you saw that massive hawk on the fence line on 4th Street.
It makes life feel longer.
When the Detour Becomes the Destination
There’s a specific type of melancholy associated with this behavior. Sometimes we stay out because we aren't ready to face what’s at the end of the road. Maybe the house is empty. Maybe the house is too full.
It's important to be honest about why you're avoiding the destination. If the long way is a treat, it's healthy. If it's an escape, it's a symptom. But for most of us, it’s just about the music. It's about letting the song finish before we have to go inside and be "on" again.
Ways to Lean Into the Detour
- Kill the GPS. At least once a week, try to get home using only your sense of direction. It builds spatial intelligence and reduces "digital amnesia."
- The 10-Minute Rule. If you arrive home earlier than expected, don't go inside immediately. Sit in the car. Listen to the silence. Let the engine tick as it cools down.
- Vary the environment. If your usual route is a highway, find a route with water. If it's all suburbs, find a route with old industrial buildings.
- Audit your mood. Pay attention to how you feel when you finally pull into the garage. Are you calmer? Or are you just tired?
A Shift in Perspective
We have been sold the lie that the fastest way is the best way. We optimize our deliveries, our workouts, and our sleep. But we don't optimize for wonder.
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Next time you find yourself at that crossroads, and the voice in your head says "just go home," ignore it. Take the turn. Drive through the park. Look at the houses with the porch lights on. There is a specific kind of peace found in the extra three miles.
You aren't wasting time. You're reclaiming it.
The long way home is where the thinking happens. It’s where the stress of the deadline dissolves into the rhythm of the tires. It is, quite literally, the space where you find yourself again after a day of being what everyone else needs you to be.
Actionable Insights for a Better Commute
To make this practice work for your mental health, stop viewing it as a mistake or a waste. Intentionally schedule a "long way" day once a week. Switch off your notifications. Put on an album—not a podcast, an album—and let the tracks flow into each other. If you’re a walker, take the alleyway instead of the sidewalk. If you’re a cyclist, climb the hill you usually avoid. The goal is to arrive at your front door not as a frazzled employee, but as a centered human being.
Notice the architecture. Watch the seasons change in people's gardens. These small observations are the building blocks of mindfulness that don't require a meditation app. You’re just living.
Stop rushing toward the end of your day. The end will get there eventually. For now, just drive.