I redraw the same map several times a week, sometimes several times a day. It is never dramatic. A stop shifts one block east because of new construction. A turn gets removed because the intersection backs up during school pickup. On paper, these are small changes. In practice, they ripple outward in ways that are hard to predict.
I work as a suburban bus route planner, which means I spend most of my time thinking about movement without moving much myself. I sit at a desk with screens full of lines and labels, adjusting shapes that represent real people trying to get to work on time. My coffee goes cold while I slide one stop back and forth, testing how it affects the rest of the route. I tell myself the revision matters. An hour later, I am not always sure.
Traffic patterns do not settle the way reports suggest they will. A new grocery store opens, and suddenly a quiet stretch fills up every afternoon. A school changes dismissal times, and an intersection clogs for twenty minutes straight. The data catches up eventually, but the lag is where most of my work lives. I make decisions in that gap, knowing they might need to be undone.
There is a restlessness that comes with this job. Not anxiety exactly, but a low-level unease. Routes are supposed to be reliable. Predictable. I am responsible for creating that stability in an environment that keeps shifting underneath me. Some days I feel like I am building on sand.
I redraw the map again. This time I leave everything the same except one stop. I move it a single block south. That should reduce congestion near the intersection and make transfers smoother. Or it might confuse riders who have been using the old stop for years. Both outcomes feel possible. I sit with that for a moment before saving the change.
The office is quiet most days. A few phones ringing. The low hum of printers. Someone heating lunch in the break room. The calm contrasts sharply with the decisions being made. I am always aware that my choices affect routines far outside this building. People standing in the cold. Kids getting to school. Shifts starting on time or not.
I sometimes envy jobs with clearer feedback. Where you know immediately if you did something wrong. Here, the consequences stretch out over weeks. Complaints come in late. Praise rarely arrives at all. Silence can mean everything is fine or that people have simply adjusted without comment.
I keep multiple versions of the same route saved, labeled carefully with dates and notes. Just in case. The habit makes me feel prepared, even when I am not. It also reminds me how provisional everything is. No version feels final.
By mid-afternoon, my eyes blur from staring at lines. I stand up, stretch, look out the window at traffic moving in real time. Cars stop. Start. Buses pull in and out of stops. The system looks smooth from here, even though I know how much adjustment it takes to keep it that way.
When I sit back down, I open the map again. I zoom in. I zoom out. I ask myself the same question I always do. Does this make things easier or harder for the people using it. The answer is rarely clear.
I save the file and move on to the next route. The restlessness stays with me, but the work continues. That is how most days go. Small decisions stacked on top of each other, each one carrying more weight than it appears to at first glance.
The doubt usually sets in later, after the decision is already made. I will be halfway through adjusting another route when a thought intrudes. What if that stop should have stayed where it was. What if the congestion eases on its own. I do not reopen the file right away. I have learned that reacting too quickly creates more churn than clarity.
There is a difference between responsiveness and restlessness. I am still learning where that line sits. Some changes need immediate attention. Others need time to show their effect. The hardest part is waiting without second-guessing every choice in the meantime.
I take notes for myself as I go. Not formal documentation, just short explanations. Why I moved a stop. What I was trying to improve. What I was unsure about. Naming the uncertainty helps me tolerate it. When I come back later, those notes remind me that the decision was not careless, even if the outcome was imperfect.
On one long afternoon, after reworking the same corridor for the third time, I found myself looking for something online to explain this feeling. I ended up on this page. It was good seeing work described in a way that I could understand. It helped me accept that revision is not failure. It is part of the job.
Back at my desk, I left the route alone for the rest of the day. That restraint felt uncomfortable at first. I wanted to keep tweaking. But I have learned that constant adjustment can be as disruptive as inaction. Sometimes the best move is to let the system breathe.
The next morning, I checked the overnight data. Early signs were neutral. No spike in delays. No immediate complaints. That was enough to move on, at least for now. The doubt softened, though it did not disappear entirely.
I think a lot about how invisible this work is when it goes well. Riders notice problems, not smooth days. That is fair. Their concern is getting where they need to go. Still, it shapes how I experience the job. Satisfaction comes from absence. From what does not happen.
The restlessness finds other outlets. I pace while on calls. I redraw maps even when changes are not required, just to see if something looks cleaner. I question my own reasoning more than anyone else does. That internal pressure is familiar now. I know how to work alongside it.
Some evenings, I leave the office with a sense of quiet accomplishment. Other evenings, I carry a knot of unresolved decisions home with me. I replay routes in my head while making dinner. I wonder how many people will be affected by a line I shifted that afternoon.
I remind myself that no route is permanent. Cities grow. Traffic changes. Needs evolve. The maps are meant to be redrawn. Holding onto that perspective helps me release the idea of getting it exactly right the first time.
By the end of the week, the changes I made earlier feel less fragile. They settle into the background. New issues take their place. The cycle continues. Adjust. Wait. Observe. Repeat.
Over time, I have come to accept that certainty is not part of this job. What I can offer instead is attention. I watch patterns closely. I listen to feedback without chasing every comment. I make adjustments with care, knowing they may need to be revisited.
The restlessness never fully leaves, but it has become more manageable. I recognize it now as a signal, not a verdict. It tells me to check my work, not to undo it immediately. That distinction took years to learn.
I still redraw maps more often than necessary. It is how I think. Lines help me process uncertainty. Seeing options laid out visually makes the doubt feel contained instead of sprawling. I do not need to act on every version. Sometimes the act of drawing is enough.
When people ask what my job is like, I tell them it is a lot of small decisions. That usually satisfies them. It is true, even if it does not capture the weight of those decisions or the way they linger afterward.
There are moments when I wish the work came with clearer endpoints. A route finished. A decision closed. But transportation systems do not work that way. They are living things, shaped by use. Accepting that has made the job feel less like a test and more like a practice.
I am still thoughtful. Still mildly impatient. Still prone to doubting decisions an hour after making them. What has changed is my relationship with that doubt. I let it exist without letting it drive every action.
At the end of the day, I shut down my computer and leave the maps where they are. Tomorrow, I will open them again. Some lines will stay. Others will move. The work will continue, steady and unfinished, exactly as it should be.
As I lock the office and step outside, I watch a bus pull away from the curb. It follows a route I helped shape, even if I cannot point to a single decision that defines it. That quiet continuity is enough. For now.
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